


The Road Less Traveled (No One Gets Lost on A Well-Worn Path)

by Yellowwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellowwolf/pseuds/Yellowwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer break had started, all was quiet in Beacon Hills and Stiles had never felt more anxious. It felt like they were caught in the eye of the hurricane, lulled into a false sense of security by blue skies and a bright sun. Stiles needed to get out for a while, he just needed to be, so he packed up his stuff, got in his jeep and drove, out of Beacon Hills and out of the state, on a quest to find some kind of inner peace and a better sense of purpose in the dysfunctional group he had come to rely on for his survival. Of course, because this was his life, it didn't take long for him to stumble into the territory of a pack of werewolves with a years old grudge against the Hale family and a hunger for revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Less Traveled (No One Gets Lost on A Well-Worn Path)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Teen Wolf Super Bang challenge](http://tnwolfsuperbang.livejournal.com/)  
> Massive thanks to Kate, for making the gorgeous art for this story! [You can find it here](http://makejest.tumblr.com/post/41557576705/art-for-yellowwolf5s-lovely-story-the-road-less#notes), and placed in the story. It's also available on [A03](http://archiveofourown.org/works/656333). Be sure to leave some love!  
> Thanks to my beta, Alex, for taking care of plot issues and helping me out. All remaining mistakes are my own, because I can't help but fiddle with it.

 

[ ](http://imageshack.us/a/img163/7530/rlt1.jpg)

The early morning sun filtered in through the window, casting stripes across the floor of the small room, illuminating a bed with an old mattress, a flat pillow and a blanket that had long since had its best time. The other side of the room was cloaked in a weird grey hue. It was not yet light but not completely dark either.

That was where Stiles was sitting, back against the wall that held the window and facing the door with his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at his ankles. Despite being tired, sleep had barely come that night. His ears had been poised for every sound and creak from outside, his mind racing too much to be able to calm down enough to find rest. He’d dozed off a couple of times, only to be snapped back into a wakeful state seconds, possibly minutes, later.

The night had stretched on endlessly without means to tell the time. At least now he knew the new day was almost starting. He was dreading it as much as he was welcoming it, because one way or another, something was going to happen. Whatever did happen, it probably wasn’t going to end well for him.

His breath hitched a little and then he grimaced when a stab of pain rippled through his abdomen. It had been pretty hard to forget his injuries what with the constant thrum of pain beneath his skin, but the sharp reminder was still an unwelcome one. At least nothing was broken. Maximum amount of pain, minimal amount of actual damage. Small mercies. Adderall withdrawal wasn’t helping matters any either. Sure, this wasn’t the first time he’d gone without a couple of days, but the added anxiety wasn’t helping.

He sighed and let his head drop back against the wall, closing his eyes.

The world outside was starting to wake up. He could hear the traffic picking up, people walking by and carrying on their morning affairs, chattering excitedly or yelling about something. He briefly contemplated yelling for help, but that would be an exercise in futility. He might as well save his voice, especially if he was right about the worst being yet to come.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he sat there, just waiting, when he heard the key being turned in the lock. He opened his eyes, staring at the door apprehensively, warily. He thought about getting up, but then decided that if they wanted him up, they could drag him up.

The door opened, revealing one of his captors that he’d seen two days before. The man –he couldn’t be much older than Stiles– gave him a small, sympathetic smile, which made Stiles want to roll his eyes, before he set down a plate of food on the floor. Then, he was gone again, the key turning firmly into the lock. The sound in the otherwise quiet room felt ominous.

Stiles eyed the food. It was just bread with cheese and a cup of water. He figured it could be worse. He figured the food meant they had no immediate plans to kill him yet.

He did push himself up then, wincing at the pain in his side, only to retrieve the plate before sitting back down. He took small bites, chewing slowly, because there was nothing else to do.

Nothing but wait for the inevitable.

 

_Four days earlier_

The sun was still low in the sky when Stiles reached the outskirts of town, the forest stretching on endlessly on either side of the mostly deserted road. His fingers were drumming a restless melody on the steering wheel, heart thundering in his chest and breathing too rapid to be considered healthy. But then, that had pretty much been his default state for the past couple of weeks.

He’d thought that the feeling of drowning, of there never being enough air would lessen with the arrival of the summer holidays. He’d thought wrong.

With the distraction of homework, finals and lacrosse firmly out of the way for a couple of months, the reality of how messed up his life had become had sunk in, making him feel even more on edge.

For the past two weeks, things had been relatively quiet in Beacon Hills, which made him even more nervous. It felt like the calm before the storm, it felt like they had made it to the eye of the hurricane, lulled into a false sense of security by clear skies and warm sun.

Nothing was okay right now. Gerard was on the run, possibly dead but probably not. Gerard was an evil son of a bitch, so Stiles wasn’t going to count him out until they found a body. There was an Alpha pack lurking around, who, aside from scaring the crap out of Boyd and Erica, had yet to make a move. Peter fucking Hale was back from the dead too, apparently, strengthen family ties, which, _yeah right._

Where there should be a united pack to deal with everything, there wasn’t one. Instead, the pack consisted of a bunch of teenagers, forced together partly through circumstance and partly through bad decision-making on Derek’s part, with an alpha who had no idea how to _be_ an Alpha. To make matters worse, the Argents had cleared out for the summer, which Stiles understood in light of recent events, he did, but they needed all the help they could get. In another show of Incredibly Bad Timing, Deaton was also gone, leaving the practice to a friend of his, who seemed schooled into all things supernatural but who was someone they didn’t know and therefore didn’t trust. Well, Derek didn’t trust him. But then Derek didn’t trust anyone, not even his own pack, not even Stiles. Not that they had given him that much reason to trust them.

Everyone pretty much had trust issues with everyone and no one seemed to want to get their heads out of their asses long enough to realize that they _needed each other_ if they were going to survive this.

Stiles had tried, he really had, starting with Scott and Derek, but that hadn’t gone well, to say the least, so he was done.

He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t live with this constant fear, this constant tightening of his chest, the constant pressure around his heart that felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

 _If you’re going through hell, keep going,_ the school councilor had said. It made sense, it was good advice even, but it was hard to keep going when the people he was supposed to be travelling with were at a constant standstill. It was just too much. He wasn’t throwing in the towel, he couldn’t, but for his own sanity, he needed to get out for a while.

He breathed out when he was getting closer to the ‘you’re leaving Beacon Hills’ sign. His relief proved to be short-lived when his jeep started jerking beneath him. Stiles huffed and glared at his dashboard as if it had caused him personal offence, which it had. He loved his jeep, he did, but it was quitting on him. The gas meter had long since stopped working. Usually, Stiles had a pretty good idea when he was running out of gas (totally a sixth sense, no matter what Scott said), but apparently, not this time. Thankfully, he always had a jerry can with gas in the back for exactly this reason.

He drove off the road, parking his car on a stretch of dirt that was supposed to be a hard shoulder of sorts, and resentfully glared at the sign. He couldn’t even leave town without something going wrong. Seriously, how was this his life?

He was still grumbling unflattering things about werewolves in general and the pack in particular when he reached for his jerry can, utterly oblivious to his surroundings, because of course, he still hadn’t learned to be careful.

“Stiles,” came a familiar voice.

“Jesus fuck!” Stiles cursed, whirling around with the jerry can clutched to his chest, coming face to face with Derek, who seemed to have materialized out of thin air (or had come out of the forest, more like). He was clad in mostly black, black jeans, white shirt, black leather jacket. “You have got to stop doing that, man.”

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, eyebrows knitted together in his perpetual frown.

“I’m about to fill up the fuel tank,” Stiles answered, purposely ignoring the real question and then ignoring Derek altogether so he could screw off the cap of the tank and pour in the gas.

“What are you doing _here_ with your _car_?”

“Driving,” Stiles replied after a couple of beats when he was done. He screwed on the cap and set the jerry can back where it belonged, making a mental note (in bold and underlined) to fill it up at the next gas station so as to avoid being stranded later. He put the jerry can away, thinking about telling Derek to fuck off, but the words died in his throat when he turned around and noticed Derek had gotten really close.

Stiles’s heartbeat skyrocketed. He expected to be shoved against the jeep any second now but it didn’t happen. Instead, Derek stood immobile, too far into his personal space to be comfortable but not actually touching him. Derek’s face was only inches from his now. He could feel his breathing ghost across his face, see the outline of red around his pupils and the way his nostrils flared in anger.

“Personal space, dude,” Stiles chastised, sounding just the slightest bit breathless at their proximity. He didn’t try to see if he could slide out from between the car and Derek’s body, because any kind of movement right now would probably lead to their bodies brushing and that would lead to Stiles having some embarrassing reactions to the wall of muscle he’d encounter. He did not have time for indulging in dirty thoughts about Derek Hale right now (seriously, when had that even started?). He remembered the times he’d been scared of Derek. He missed those times. Those times were simpler and less likely to result in him making a fool of himself when his body betrayed him and he got a little bit hot and bothered. Or a lot.  

“You’re leaving town,” Derek said, managing to sound both accusing and betrayed, which Stiles felt was a lot of emotion for one sentence, but then, Derek had become a bit frayed around the edges lately, his carefully kept façade crumbling around him when control continued to slip away.

“I am, yes,” Stiles confirmed, because there was no denying it with his proximity to the sign and the duffel bags in his car. And Derek was a living lie detector, couldn’t get anything past him.

“Don’t,” Derek growled.

Ah, that was the Derek he knew, ordering him around, without an actual proper explanation in which he used words and rational argument and not rely on the fact that his pack was supposed to submit, which a) didn’t even work on Boyd and Erica and b) definitely did not work on him, since he was human and wasn’t submitting to anyone, ever. Also, he was not part of the pack. Any pack. Okay, maybe Scott’s pack, if both of them could count as a pack with Allison gone.

“I’m going to ask why I shouldn’t leave and if your answer includes ‘I forbid it’ and ‘I’m the alpha’, I swear to god, I will punch you in the face, even though that will most likely hurt me more than you,” Stiles threatened, giving Derek his most intimidating glare, which, okay, was definitely not as intimidating as the glare Derek was leveling at him now. Did he at least get bonus points for trying? “Why should I stay?”  

“It’s  not safe out there,” Derek answered, sounding pained, as if using words was actually a strenuous activity.

Stiles barked out a bitter laugh. “Right, because I’m oh so safe within the town limits.” His cheekbone still had a yellow shine to it from Gerard kidnapping him and beating the crap out of him. The list of injuries he’d sustained over the past months was steadily growing longer, long enough that pretty soon, the excuses he kept making to his dad weren’t going to work anymore.  

Derek’s eyes did flash red then and Stiles could feel the angry exhale of air against his face. He gave Derek his best ‘that shit does not work on me anymore’ stare and waited for more, something, anything, an actual reason, maybe something along the lines of _we need you_ or better yet, _I need you,_ something to show him he was actually valued, that he wasn’t just seen as an extension of Google, someone to do the research because everyone was too busy running around and doing things that mattered. He wanted to do things that mattered, he wanted to feel like he mattered. To Scott, to Derek, whoever. He wanted to know that they had his back, that they would protect him when needed, that they didn’t just think of him as the figurative damsel in distress who they were stuck with it.

Derek held his gaze for a long minute. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was trying to stare him into submission or if he was trying to think of something to say. Either way, when nothing seemed to come, Derek took a step back and averted his gaze. Stiles brushed away the crease in his jacket and escaped to the side of the jeep.

“I can’t keep you safe out there,” came Derek’s voice just as his hand closed around the door handle.

Stiles froze and turned back. Derek met his eyes head on but Stiles couldn’t read _anything_ in his face, his expression carefully blank. He didn’t know if Derek was saying it because he was actually worried or because he felt like it was what he wanted to hear. It didn’t mean anything  when it wasn’t genuine.

He swallowed heavily and shook his head. “Not good enough.”

Stiles climbed in the cabin, put on his seatbelt and let the engine purr to life. When he looked into his side mirror, Derek had already disappeared back into the forest. He heaved a sigh and pulled back onto the road, finally heading out of Beacon Hills, leaving the mess he had somehow become a part of.

\--

Stiles filled up the car at the nearest gas station and then set course for Sacramento, where he’d be able to take the I-80. He could follow it all the way to New York, if he wanted to, bridging the 2,800 miles distance in under three days, counting the necessary stops for food and sleep.

He considered it briefly but discarded the idea just as quickly. The point of this trip was not the destination but the journey. He had no clear end in sight and he didn’t want to. He wanted to go wherever the road took him.

Selling this idea to his dad had definitely not been easy. He’d briefly entertained the idea of sneaking out in the middle of the night, leaving a note, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that, not so soon after his kidnapping. He couldn’t stand the thought of lying to his dad again, even if, inevitably, he’d had to spin the truth a little, omitting certain facts.

He could hardly have said that his main reason for leaving had something (okay, a lot) to do with werewolves. His dad was still firmly out of the loop and Stiles intended to keep it that way for as long as humanly possible. He was pretty sure time was running out, because there were only so many weird things that could keep happening without his dad getting suspicious. What had happened at the sheriff’s station had been a close call as it was. One more of those and the gig was probably up. There was no saying what would happen then.

Stiles shuddered. For one, he’d probably be grounded for life for a) keeping it a secret from him and b) getting involved with werewolves. For another, his dad would probably start going after the things that went bump in the night and get himself injured, or worse, killed, in the process. That was just… unacceptable.

As far as his dad knew, his leaving was caused by the kidnapping, Lydia and Jackson getting back together and his general struggle with life during the year. Even then, his dad had felt less than pleased with letting his sixteen year-old son travel through the country alone. Funny how he didn’t feel like a sixteen year old-teen. His mother dying at an early age and all of last year had forced him to grow up. He’d learned too much about life already and all that knowledge was wearing him down. His dad must have seen that too because he let him go, muttering something about burning Kerouac’s books.

Sometimes, he wished he could go back a year and stop himself from going into the forest that night, so that he could go back to worrying about grades, lacrosse, videogames nights with Scott and his unrequited love for Lydia instead of untrained werewolves and psychotic alphas. He wasn’t entirely sure yet if Derek fell under the former or latter category. With the way things were, probably the former. Derek was not a natural born leader, nor did he seem to have been taught any leadership skills, the result of his family’s death no doubt. As a result, he was making things up as he went and they all suffered for it.

Stiles followed the I-80 for the rest of the day, his only goal getting as far away as possible. He didn’t stop to see any sights, he only stopped when his legs started cramping up or he badly needed to pee or eat. Even with the necessary stops, he reached Salt Lake City, Utah by  nine pm.

It felt strange, having crossed two state borders in a little over eleven hours, but also liberating.

He drove around until he found a motel that didn’t look like it was going to cost him a fortune or make him run away from cockroaches. With the monsters he’d faced recently, a cockroach probably wouldn’t even faze him anymore. He didn’t dare test that theory though.

He parked his car, grabbed his duffel bags from the back and headed into the reception area, where  a woman around his dad’s age was checking something on the computer, so intensely that she either didn’t hear Stiles approach or didn’t care.

Stiles dumped his bags on the ground and leaned a forearm on the counter, clearing his throat. The woman snapped her attention away from the computer to give him a warm, welcoming smile.

“Can I have a room for one night, please?” Stiles asked, pulling out his wallet.

“Sure thing, sweetheart. You just have to fill in this form.” She slid one towards him over the counter with a pen so Stiles could fill in his details. “What brings you to Salt Lake City?”

Stiles looked up to find the woman scrutinizing him.

“Oh, um, just passing through,” Stiles answered, focusing back on the paper. “Meeting friends in New York. Taking the car seemed more fun than taking the plane.” He clamped his mouth shut then before more lies could spill it. It wasn’t as if he had to justify himself to this lady. That didn’t stop him from filling in his age as 21, thinking about the fake ID he had in his wallet.

She took back the paper, skimming over it. “That’ll be 53 dollars. Check-out is no later than 11 am.”

Stiles handed over the money and took the key with a thanks. She told him where to find the room and wished him a nice stay, with a smirk on her face that suggested she knew he was lying about something. She probably didn’t care. Stiles hoisted his bags over his shoulder and went to go find his room.

It was a pretty decent room, with a kingsize bed and nightstands on either side. The wallpaper was a light beige that blended in well with a wooden closet. The bathroom had a shower and a toilet, pressed fairly close together. The only weird thing in the room were pink curtains that looked decidedly out of place. It could be worse, he figured.

Stiles dumped his bags on the foot of the bed, fished his cell phone out of his jeans pocket and flung himself on the bed, which was a little on the hard side but still comfortable. His cell phone had been ringing off and on during the day, but he’d ignored every call. He would have picked up if it had been his dad but he hadn’t heard the ringtone he’d set for him.

He had six missed calls and about a dozen messages from Scott, two calls from Lydia and one text from Jackson that told him to stop ignoring Lydia or pay for it. He had the sneaky suspicion it might have been Lydia who’d sent that one because he didn’t see Jackson texting him, not even to do Lydia’s bidding.

He typed out a quick text to his dad to tell him he was still alive and currently in Salt Lake City, before reading through Scott’s texts, which were all a variation of ‘where are you?’ and ‘why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?’. Stiles couldn’t read the texts without imagining Scott’s puppy dog eyes and a pout on his face, exactly the reason he hadn’t told Scott about his plans face-to-face. He would never have made it out if Scott had turned the puppy eyes on him, which was why it was a good thing Scott hadn’t asked about his plans for the summer. He’d been too caught up in his own life, worrying about lacrosse, hanging out with his new best friend, Isaac (which Stiles was only a little bitter about. No, really) and brooding over his doomed romance with Allison. It wasn’t that Scott was a bad friend. Stiles knew that if he’d said something about how he was feeling, Scott would have been there. But he hadn’t wanted to say anything and Scott hadn’t noticed, because sometimes, he was painfully oblivious about things.

Clearly, someone had filled him in on his leaving though. If he had to venture a guess, he would say that had probably come from his dad because heaven forbid Derek and Scott actually carry on an actual conversation without fighting about something or other.

Scott was his best friend, had been since kindergarten when Stiles had fallen, giving himself a bloody knee, and Scott had trotted over to help him, which mostly consisted of making silly faces until he was laughing instead of crying. Scott was there when his mom died, just like Stiles had been there when Scott’s dad had left.

There was a lot of history there, but lately, it didn’t feel as if they were that close. Stiles got it, he did. Between all the werewolf business and trying not to get killed by his girlfriend’s dad, her grandfather and, eventually, his girlfriend, he’d had a lot to deal with. But so had Stiles and there were moments he just couldn’t deal with the girlfriend drama.

Scott had been mostly sulking since Allison had left town. They’d spend more time together, yes, playing video games and practicing lacrosse, but it felt different, it felt off, like they didn’t fit as well as they used to. It was another part of the reason he’d left. When Scott had become a werewolf and their lives had started changing, it had felt like they were in this together, but now Scott had gotten the hang of it, he knew a lot more about being a werewolf than Stiles could ever hope to find out through research. He wasn’t needed anymore, as evidenced by the fact Scott hadn’t even told him about the master plan to thwart Gerard, which had gone surprisingly smooth for all that could have gone wrong with it. Scott didn’t need him, Derek and the pack sure as hell didn’t need him.

Stiles sighed, contemplated texting Scott back but then decided against it. Instead, he pocketed his cell phone, made sure he had his wallet on him and left the room.

He figured that now he was here he might as well walk around for a bit, get a feel for what life was like in a big city, where there were, hopefully, no werewolves.

It was dark out but the city was still alive with activity, in stark contrast to Beacon Hills, which seemed to fall silent at night, not counting werewolf induced shenanigans. Not Salt Lake City. Traffic still passed in a steady stream, the sidewalks were rarely empty, people heading towards and coming back from destinations unknown.

Here, he was just another person on the streets, nothing but a face in the crowd. He liked the anonymity. He might be alone but he didn’t feel lonely or isolated. If anything, it felt like he was a part of something, like he had a purpose, a reason for being out here, because everyone had one, so why should he be different?

For perhaps the first time, he felt as if he could breathe freely, without feeling constricted. Even on his ten hour drive, he’d felt a certain amount of tension and apprehension. But here, wandering the streets, he stopped feeling adrift.

He paused on a street corner and took a deep breath, holding it for a second. The paused motion made him aware of the steady beat of his heart and the sounds of people going about their business. Normal, it felt normal. He blew out the air and for the first time in a long time, let a real smile take over his face.

Feeling calmer than ever, he felt like it was a good time to go back to the motel and get some sleep. He had no trouble finding his way back, even though he’d been wandering the streets for close to two hours. If there was one thing that had improved over the last couple of months because of his running and driving around Beacon Hills, then it was his sense of orientation. Something to be thankful for, at least.

\--

At nine am, after a quick shower, breakfast at the Blue Plate diner just around the corner and a stop at a local grocery store for some water and cookies for on the road, he was off again. He’d slept surprisingly well and had gotten six hours of uninterrupted sleep before he’d started tossing and turning. Still, the six hours had been more than he’d gotten in a long time so he felt pretty good.

On his way out of town, he drove past a deserted campus of the University of Utah. Not for the first time Stiles wondered if he was ever going to make it out of town or if he was inevitably going to be dragged so deep into all of the werewolf business that, by the time he had the opportunity, he simply couldn’t. He found it hard to imagine but it was yet another thing on his mind: the pack were relatively young now. What happened if they wanted to go to college, spread out? Would Derek allow it? Would he make them stay? Would they even live that long? Would they be able to control themselves, away from their anchors and their territory?

Shaking his head, he drove back onto the I-80 and followed it further east until he crossed over into Wyoming. It was almost hard to believe there were two whole states between himself and the life he was trying to escape from, albeit briefly.

Now that he was in Wyoming, he figured he might as well go up to Yellowstone to check it out for himself. That way, he’d at least have some cool pictures to show his dad when he got back.

He pulled into the nearest rest stop to get the GPS on his cell phone going. He’d missed the exit to highway 189 already, but his GPS showed he could take highway 191 and follow it north until it went over into highway 189. Deciding that was the best course of action, he got back into the car and made the turn into highway 191.

He hadn’t been following it long when he came across a town called Eden. Snorting, he pulled over onto the side of the road, took a picture of a green field, labeled it The Garden of Eden and uploaded it to his Facebook page.

Grinning, he set course further north, feeling in a particularly good mood despite the slight lameness of the joke. There was barely any traffic so he rolled down the window, turned up the volume on his iPod and sang along to songs, horribly off-tune but not caring, because there wasn’t anyone to hear him anyway.

The landscape didn’t hold his attention for very long. For miles and miles, there was nothing to see, except for plains around him and an occasional stream of traffic passing him by from the other side. Eventually, the dull brown plains gave way to green fields. He passed through Boulder, where green and brown were the reigning colors. Next, he passed through Pinedale, where he drove through a forest and past an airport. He stopped there at the side of the road to stretch his legs and drink some water, while watching one plane take off and one plane land. It didn’t look like a big airport, so there was little activity.

Highway 191 guided him through the town center of Pinedale. He didn’t stop there though. The drive out of town was visually interesting. The right side seemed a sea of green, trees and fields stretching out while on the left, plains rose. Further down the road, the image was flipped. Near the next bent, highway 191 met highway 189 and he was on track again.

It was nearing four pm when he drove through a town called Jackson, where he decided to set up shop for the night, heroically resisting the urge to let Facebook know he’d be spending ‘one night in Jackson’. Yellowstone Park was another two hour drive away, which he figured he could easily do in the morning.

He found a cheap motel on the outskirts of town and handed over another 50 dollars, wincing at all the money he was spending. Definitely not something he’d been putting a lot of thought into when he’d decided to take this trip. He should probably sleep in the car the next couple of nights just so he wouldn’t go bankrupt.

After paying for the room and dumping his stuff there, he left his car in the parking lot and went to find a nice little diner so he could have something to eat. He’d barely eaten all day, too busy trying to make good time to consider eating much. Now though, his stomach was making its displeasure known.

The town, though close to Yellowstone national park and even closer to Treton National Park, was relatively deserted. He figured people didn’t drive into town until later in the evening, getting a motel and spending the night there before continuing the trek to either national park.

He found a cozy looking diner a fifteen minute walk away from the motel. It was quiet for the time of day. A balding man of around forty was sitting at the counter, talking to a waitress with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and excessive blue eye make-up. A young couple with two kids had claimed the booth in the back and were trying to stop the kids from making a mess. On his right, near the front, a woman was having a heated argument with her male companion.

Stiles strategically chose a booth on his left, far away enough from the couple with the screeching kids so as to avoid a potential headache and far away enough from the arguing woman so that he wouldn’t overhear their fight. He had enough drama going on in his own life, thank you very much.

When he slid in the booth, his eyes met the arguing woman’s eyes. He was momentarily distracted by the piercing, icy blue color, inexplicably drawn in. Mahogany brown hair was trailing down her shoulders in waves. She had to be at least ten year older than him, judging by the lines around her eyes but there was something young about her.

She frowned at him. Stiles guiltily snapped his eyes away and berated himself for staring at her so blatantly. _Not appropriate._ Derek was the one who creepily stared at people, not him.

He picked up the menu instead so he had something to focus on. He had just decided on a barbeque pork sandwich, with a side of curly fries and a large coke, when his cell phone beeped. He fished it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. Scott. _Again._

Sighing, he hit the call button to get the inevitable conversation over with.

 _“Dude, what the hell? Where are you?”_ Scott asked, betrayal and anger sounding through clearly in his words. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Jackson, Wyoming,” Stiles answered, figuring it couldn’t hurt to give up his current location.

 _“I – Well, I don’t know where that is, but – I mean, I know where_ Wyoming _is obviously, but why are you there? Why didn’t you_ tell _me? I had to hear from_ Derek, _of all people, that you’d skipped town, which, by the way, is a terrible idea and the fact that I’m recognizing it as such should tell you enough about the stupidity of it.”_

Stiles snorted. “Did you come up with that by yourself or did Derek tell you to tell me that?”

There was a momentary pause on the other end of the line that told Stiles all he needed to know. He exhaled angrily.

“Seriously, Scott? You turn your back on the guy at every turn, but now you decide it’s a good idea to gang up on me with Derek freaking Hale?” His tone had risen considerably towards the end of the sentence and he found the woman and her male companion staring at him with identical frowns on their faces, probably angry that he was interrupting their argument with his. Stiles cringed and made a mental note to lower his voice.

_“Trust me, I don’t much like being on the same page as Derek on anything, but he’s right, Stiles. You shouldn’t be on your own right now, not with the alpha pack and all the werewolf crap. As much as you don’t want it, they know you’re with us, even as a human. That makes you a target.”_

“Contrary to what is apparently popular belief, I do not have a bulls-eye painted on my back and I’m fine here, so I’m going to take this road trip and come back when I’m ready to deal with your, and I mean that in a broad way, crap again!”Stiles hissed.

There was another long pause. _“This isn’t like you, Stiles. You don’t run away.”_ Scott said softly.

“I’m not running away, I’m taking a break. You don’t need me there right now. None of us know what’s going to happen and even if something happens, I don’t exactly have the… capabilities to help you,” Stiles admitted. Maybe he was running, running away from being helpless and from being unable to help.

 _“Bullshit!”_ Scott exploded. _“If it hadn’t been for your help, I probably would have been dead by now. And that goes for Derek, too. You’re needed here.”_

Stiles huffed out a laugh. “You can’t go from implying that I need to be there because I need rescuing to needing me to help, Scott.”

 _“I didn’t imply you need rescuing! In case you’ve missed it, we’ve all been in less than healthy situations. We all need rescuing, which is why we need to stick together!”_ Scott said, sounding a little angry and a little exasperated. Rich, coming from him.

“And yet you keep turning away from Derek. Nice logic, Scott,” Stiles replied, sarcasm heavy in his voice so that it would definitely carry over the line.

That shut Scott up, at least. It was quiet on the other end for a couple of seconds. He could hear Scott’s breathing. He refused to break the silence and waited instead.

_“Is there anything I can say to change your mind about this?”_

The answer came instantaneous. “Nope.”

Scott sighed. _“Okay, fine… Are we cool, Stiles?”_

Stiles let his head drop back against the backrest and closed his eyes. “That’s probably something we should talk about when I get back.”

 _“Yeah…,”_ Scott said, hesitant, sounding a little guilty. _“Be careful, alright? And I’m not saying that because I think you need rescuing or whatever, but because there’s not just werewolves making the world a bad place.”_

Stiles smiled at that. “When did we become such doom thinkers?”

 _“When did I get bitten?”_ Scott countered.

“Yeah. Bye, Scott.” Stiles ended the call and dropped his cell phone on the table.

“Are you ready to order, sweetie?” The waitress, Sandy, her name tag read, asked, seemingly materializing next to him out of thin air. He’d probably been a bit distracted.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll have the barbeque pork sandwich, with curly fries and a large coke, please.”

“Nothing to apology for. Everything alright?” Sandy asked, with a concerned frown.

“Yeah, just some friend trouble,” Stiles replied.

Sandy nodded knowingly. “I have a son your age. He’s constantly getting into fights with his friends. You’ll grow out of the teenage drama, kid, I promise.”

Stiles had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from snorting. Instead, he nodded solemnly. Teenage drama sounded good right about now. Then he thought about Scott and Allison. No, it didn’t sound good in the slightest.

“I’ll get you that coke, your dinner will be ready soon.”

Stiles used the time to text his dad to tell him he was alive and that he sincerely hoped he wasn’t eating too much cholesterol-inducing food. His dad responded by calling him to make sure he was actually eating.

“So,” Stiles started, after explaining how he’d been driving, “Anything, you know, strange going in Beacon Hills?”

He couldn’t help but ask even though he knew Scott would have mentioned strange occurrences. Then again, Scott probably wouldn’t know until it bit him in the ass, but if he and Derek were talking, he hoped Derek would at least keep him updated.

As soon as he thought it, he realized how untrue that statement was. Derek only volunteered information when he didn’t have a choice anymore, usually after a near-death experience.

_“It’s surprisingly quiet. Maybe the criminals have taken the summer off as well.”_

Stiles thanked the heavens for that. “That’s good, very good. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye, dad.”

_“Stay safe, kiddo.”_

By the time that phone call ended, a plate of delicious smelling food appeared before in. Having worked up quite the appetite after driving all day, he dug in and cleared his plate in record time, the conversations around him providing a buzz of soothing background noise.

Stiles headed out soon after, deciding to explore the town a little bit and see how it stacked up to Beacon Hills. As much as he’d liked the crowded streets of Salt Lake City, the relative quiet of the town felt more like home.

He’d been wandering around for fifteen minutes when sirens drew his attention. They were coming closer. Stiles was mildly fascinated, wondered what the sheriff of this town looked like and whether or not he had a kid that liked stretching the law a bit at times. He grinned, thinking about all the crime scenes he’d trespassed on. Some people called it creepy, he called it a hobby born out of his natural curiosity. His dad called it trespassing, _period._

The squad car, approaching from behind him, made a very illegal u-turn and came to a screeching halt near his part of the sidewalk, parked half across the street. The car had barely pulled to a stop when a deputy jumped out of the passenger seat and to Stiles’s surprise, approached him.  

“Were you just at the diner?” the guy asked.

“I – What? Yeah, I was, what’s going on?” Stiles asked, glancing between the deputy and the young officer driving the car.

The deputy nodded. “You’re under arrest.”

Stiles huffed out a startled laugh and felt his chest momentarily tighten with panic before he remembered he hadn’t done anything wrong. _At all._

“On what grounds? I paid. Sandy can confirm that, she likes me. I remind her of her son,” Stiles babbled.

The deputy shrugged. “Orders, kid. Get in.” He jerked his thumb at the open car door to the backseat.

Stiles dubiously glanced at the officer holding up the door. “My dad, who is also a sheriff, by the way, doesn’t like me getting into the car with strangers.”

The deputy gave him an unimpressed look and grabbed his arm.

“Hey! This is just uncalled for! I didn’t do anything wrong. I got to town like an hour and a half ago and okay, there’s restraining order out against me in Beacon Hills, but that was all a huge misunderstanding. Funny story, actually. You would laugh if I could tell it to you,” Stiles rambled, pointlessly, because he got shoved into the backseat anyway, after his cell phone and his wallet were taken from him. “Rude. Seriously though, what’s this about?”

The deputy looked in the rearview mirror. “Talk to the sheriff.”

Stiles huffed. “Helpful, thanks.” He glared out the window. If this was somehow a ploy of his dad or something, he was going to kill him.

The drive to the sheriff’s station wasn’t particularly long. A shudder went through him at the sight of it, the events of what had happened in the sheriff’s station back in Beacon Hills still too vivid in his mind. He was getting a serious aversion of sheriff’s stations.

He got out of the car on his own free volition, because it was that or getting dragged out, and followed the two men into the station. They were greeted by a stern looking woman behind the desk, who nodded at them and at the deputy’s command, got the sheriff on the phone.

Stiles was lead towards the back, through a hallway with doors on either side, until they reached an interrogation room near the end. The deputy pushed the door open.

“Sit there, someone will be with you shortly.”

Stiles frowned but did as he was told. They didn’t seem to be following any kind of procedure. They hadn’t booked him properly, hadn’t asked about his guardian, seeing as how he was a minor, but they still had his cell phone and wallet, which meant that for all intents and purposes, he was being treated as a criminal anyway. This couldn’t be good.

He sat down for all of thirty seconds before he started pacing the small room, walking circles around the rickety wooden table with two chairs on either side. There was no camera but there was a darkened window that was no doubt see-through on the other side. He stopped to look at it for a while, squinting at his own reflection. They didn’t have this in Beacon Hills.

He didn’t have to wait long, although it felt like an eternity. A man, who he presumed to be the sheriff, entered, followed close behind by the arguing woman he’d seen in the diner earlier.

“Stiles, please sit down,” the sheriff said.

Stiles frowned. There was no way the man could know that was his name. It certainly wasn’t the name on his ID. He defiantly crossed his arms in front of his chest and stood his ground.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m Ethan Oates, this is Ava Bryant. We have a few questions for you.”

“About what?” Stiles asked, suspiciously.

Ava smirked. Stiles was still drawn in by her piercing blue eyes. Eyes that were getting steadily darker, redder, in fact. Her mouth stretched open further and her teeth started to elongate.

“Aww, crap.”

\--

Stiles was restlessly drumming his fingers on the surface of the table, glancing between Ethan, who had ostensibly put his gun on the table, and Ava, who regarded him coolly. Stiles didn’t see why the sheriff needed a gun. He was plenty intimidated by the alpha, with the teeth and the claws and the inhuman strength. He took a sip from the glass of water he’d been given.

“So, Stiles, now that we’re all comfortable, why don’t you start by telling us what you’re doing in town?” The sheriff asked, smiling pleasantly. He looked friendly enough, with his warm brown eyes and laughing lines when he smiled.

“Road trip, I’m just passing through. I’m heading up to Yellowstone, never been there before. It seemed like a good idea to stop here for the night. _Seemed_ being the key word,” Stiles said with the necessary emphasis and disdain for his current predicament.

“So, you expect us to believe you stumbled upon our territory purely by accident?” Ava asked, overriding whatever the sheriff was going to ask next. He shot her a glare but didn’t say anything. That made it clear who was boss here.

“I’m not enjoying this either, trust me. The entire reason I left Beacon Hills was to get away from werewolves and kanimas and crazy, dying grandfathers. Don’t ask, it’s a long story. Last thing I wanted was to stumble across another pack.” Stiles clamped his mouth shut and reminded himself to not give away too much until he knew what the hell Ava’s deal was. “By the way, you’re like a supernatural lie detector, listen to my heart if you don’t believe the words.”

“Hale must have told you about our territory,” Ava said, narrowing her eyes, an edge to her voice at the mention of the word ‘Hale’.

Stiles almost snorted, because a) Derek telling him _anything_ would be a miracle and b) given Derek’s lack of knowledge, he probably had no idea where the other packs were.

“He definitely never mentioned having friends here,” Stiles replied.

“He doesn’t,” Ava informed him with a truly creepy, though thankfully fangless, smile.

Well, that answered the question about how much he could reveal, which was clearly _nothing._ Hostile territory and all that. It just figured. When he got out of here, he was going to have a serious talk with Derek about making peace with other packs.

“I am curious though, Stiles. Last I heard, there was no pack to speak of, what with the fire, but now Derek, is it? Is rebuilding his pack. Why?” Ava asked, the overly sweet tone of her voice doing nothing to hide the edge.

“Look, you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not actually a part of his pack,” Stiles said, carefully, measuring every word to make sure it was nothing but the truth, so that she couldn’t call him out on a lie.

Ava cocked her head to the side and regarded him steadily. “And yet you reek of werewolf, plus your earlier phone conversation suggests you have a decent grasp on what’s going on.”

Stiles lifted a corner of his t-shirt to his face and took a sniff. “I smell like wet dog, really? I don’t smell anything out of the ordinary.”

When Ava’s fist came down on the table, Stiles jumped at the noise, for a second worried the table was actually going to collapse for all it was creaking. The bang sent his heart beating in overdrive and he swallowed heavily. He couldn’t hide behind dog jokes forever. It didn’t look like Ava had a very firm grasp on her patience and an out of control werewolf was not something he needed right now, or, well, ever again.

“You don’t want to mess with me, kid,” Ava growled out, eyes flashing a deep red.

Stiles gulped. “I really don’t, no, but I’ve got nothing to say.” Which, okay, lie, because he had plenty to say.

Ava smiled, no, bared her teeth at him. She rose slowly from her chair and came over to his side of the table, leaning against it next to him. One of her hands came up to the back of his neck, the hint of claws digging into the tender flesh. Stiles determinedly held her gaze and fought the urge to lean back.

“This can go one of two ways. We can have a nice little chat where you volunteer information, or I’ll make you. Either way, I will get the answers I need,” She said, menacingly.

Stiles glanced over at the sheriff, who, aside from looking a little uncomfortable, didn’t look like he was going to object to the threat of torture. Of a minor. He had to deflect somehow, find what she wanted, so he did what he did best: he talked.

“I don’t understand what you want from Derek, anyway. His territory is two states over. I highly doubt he managed to do something to piss you off from this far a distance, although quite honestly, if anyone could do, it would probably be Derek, simply by breathing this way, or something. I get it, he’s a frustrating guy, but he hasn’t actually done anything wrong, so if you could just --” Stiles’s mouth clamped shut when the claws actually pierced his skin. He winced and bit the inside of his cheek.

“ _He_ hasn’t, no, but the Hales have,” Ava interrupted, the growl clear in her voice. Her eyes were shining with a hatred that made Stiles recoil.

“Great, that’s not cryptic at all,” Stiles muttered.

“Let’s try this again. How big is his pack?”

“There’s this invention called the telephone. It allows you to call people long-distance and _ask them yourself,_ ” Stiles hissed.

Ava didn’t seem to appreciate his smart-ass comment because next thing he knew, his jaw was stinging and he was teetering precariously on the edge of the seat, the only thing keeping him from falling the hold she still had on his neck. Her claws had sunk in further and he could feel a small line of blood trickle down his neck and into his shirt. A shiver of fear slid up his spine.

“No one likes a smartass, Stiles. It’s not a difficult question.”

Stiles was only mildly comforted by the fact that Ava was clearly out of the loop enough that she didn’t know about the band of misfits Derek called a pack. The question remained why she was so intent on finding out.

“I might be more inclined to answer if I knew why you needed the information, because if you’re going to use it to kill them, then I’m sure as hell not answering,” he said, determinedly, ignoring the urge to raise his hand to his injured jaw in favoring of glaring daggers at her, although the effect was probably ruined by the too fast beating of his heart.  

Ava smirked, her teeth growing larger as she leaned in, forcing his head back with her free hand. He could feel the scrape of teeth at his throat before she inhaled.

“That’s cute. You forget I can smell your _fear._ ” She practically purred in his ear.

Stiles tilted his head away as far as it could go without driving her claws in deeper, which was not far, but he hoped the small motion was enough to show his defiance.

“Can you smell my determination?”

There was a cruel twist to her lips when she pulled away. Stiles was already bracing himself for the next blow when the sheriff finally spoke up.

“Ava, a word,” he said, jerking his head towards the door, standing up slowly and deliberately, putting his gun back in his holster and holding eye contact with Ava as he headed for the door, not intimidated by her glare. She followed him out eventually, giving Stiles a couple of minutes to catch his breath.

He gingerly touched his cheek, wincing. Just great. His previous bruise had just healed, now another one had already taken its place. He started drumming his fingers on the table again, just for something to do while he feverishly tried to find a way out of this situation. He was coming up blank. There was a real possibility he was in a station filled with werewolves, who would smell and/or hear it the moment he was up to something.

Even lying about the pack wasn’t much of an option. He could maybe lie by omission, but that didn’t leave him with a lot of wiggle room. Even then, there was no guarantee she was going to let him, or anyone in the pack, live. He couldn’t endanger them. But he also couldn’t wait for back up, because this time, none would be coming.

He was saved from giving himself a headache by the return of Ava and Ethan.

Stiles sat up straighter and glared between the two of them. Ava smirked. Ethan sat back down while Ava leaned against the wall behind him, which made him a little hopeful that no further punches were coming for the time being.

“I’m not the bad girl here, Stiles, and I admire your loyalty, so I’m going to cut you a deal,” Ava said, with an almost kind smile. Well, it would be considered kind if Stiles hadn’t already seen the not-kind version of it.

“Talk or die?” Stiles asked, because he could just not keep his mouth shut.

“That’s deal B, why don’t you listen to deal A first? As you may have guessed, we have some… unfriendly feelings towards the Hales. I’m going to explain to you exactly why and then, you’re going to tell me everything I want to hear. If you do, I promise to only kill Derek and leave the rest of the pack alone, including your friend… Scott, was it? He sounds like he really cares about you, you must be good friends.”

“That sounded more like a threat than a deal,” Stiles bit out, hand balling into a fist as anger coursed through him at the obvious blackmail.

Ava shrugged. “Take it however you want.”

Stiles took a deep, calming breath. “I wasn’t aware you were a witch, too. Killing Derek from two states over? That’s impressive.” He said, holding on to the idle threats.

“Ah, but that’s the beauty. He’s going to come here, because we have you. We won’t even have to go anywhere, he’ll come right to us.”

The confident smile on her face made Stiles snort. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not a part of Derek’s pack? He’s not going anywhere!” Stiles said, frustrated.

“We’ll find that out soon, won’t we?” Ava replied, reasonably. “You are connected to him somehow. Maybe you’re not pack, but maybe you mean something to him. Maybe that’s enough. Do you want to hear the story or would you rather we go for deal B?”

“I’ll take the story,” Stiles said, if only so it would give him some time to think.

Ava sat back down. “Smart choice. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but having humans in your pack is not a regular occurrence. There are a lot of packs in which that is frowned upon, even if they fit right in because of a particular skill or quality. We have humans in our pack, humans we value and protects as our own. Years ago, one of our humans was passing through Hale territory. He wasn’t – He wasn’t aware of the customs yet, which was, admittedly, the fault of his alpha. When you pass through another pack’s territory, you let them know in advance you mean no harm or disrespect,” Ava explained at his confused frown. Ah, so, he had inevitably broken one of the customs too. Made slightly more sense why they had detained him then.

“He didn’t know that and the Hales caught him. Somehow, they missed the fact that he was not a werewolf. They wanted to teach him a message, send _us_ a message, but as you’re well aware, humans don’t heal fast. They took it too far. By the time they realized he was human, it was too late and he was dead. An accident, they said,” Ava snorted in disbelief. “They were too strong for our pack at the time and then the fire happened and took care of the Hale family. But now, there’s another Hale, building a pack. That’s unacceptable. They took something from us.”

“So now you’re taking something, by which I mean me, from them?” Stiles asked incredulously. “This is a decades old blood feud, seriously?” He thought he’d already gone through his fair share of shady motives that somehow had to justify murder, but clearly, he was wrong.

“It’s about honor,” Ava corrected. “You may find this hard to believe, but we don’t want you to die. You’re only human, after all. But this is still personal and Hale has to pay.”

 “Your idea of revenge is killing someone who has no idea about all of this? An eye for an eye, even though Derek has nothing to do with what happened back then? Even though _you_ were not directly involved?” Stiles was almost shouting by the end of it, which was not such a terrific idea, because it made his jaw twinge unpleasantly.

Ava looked as unimpressed with his outburst as she did convinced that maybe he was right about this being _ridiculous._

“It’s time for your end of the bargain. We want to know about Derek’s pack, all of it. Who’s in it, how they function together. In return, we’ll only kill Derek when all of them get here for a no doubt heroic, though ultimately, unsuccessful rescue attempt. As soon as Derek is dead, you and the rest of the pack _will_ be free to go, you have my word. We don’t want casualties.”

Stiles knew exactly what she was offering. If she killed Derek, she’d technically be their alpha. She’d either hold up her end of the bargain and they would leave as omegas or she wouldn’t and she could force them to stay in her pack, which would probably not be much better than leading the life of an omega. Scott would be fine, probably, since he hadn’t submitted to Derek, but the others? Boyd and Erica would jump at the chance to leave and Isaac? Well, he didn’t know about Isaac, but he might stay loyal to Scott. Jackson, so far, had shown no intention of actually submitting to Derek, unwilling to lead his life any other way than on his own terms, so he would probably be fine. Peter would probably choose to stay and take his chances, Stiles wouldn’t even be surprised by that.

Stiles hated this, he hated the thought of something happening to Derek and the pack falling apart, even if it wasn’t much of one. They were all bound together now through sheer circumstance. Stiles might not be pack in the strict sense of the word, but he was in their circle, just as much as Scott was.

He couldn’t give Derek up, he couldn’t give the pack up, because there was still the threat of the alpha pack, looming over Beacon Hills. They might move in with Derek gone, they could turn his town into their playground. There was the possibility that everyone would suffer and that included his dad.

This wasn’t just about selling out the pack anymore, this was about what Beacon Hills needed and what Beacon Hills needed was an alpha, even if he was an inexperienced one.

“I don’t mean to belittle your storytelling skills, but you’re seriously crazy if you think any of that convinced me to tell you anything,” Stiles said resolutely.

“For someone who claims to not be a part of the pack, you’re touchingly loyal, Stiles. Well, then I guess we’ll just have to proceed with plan B. Ethan, I think it’s time for you to leave. Get me Jake, will you?” It was phrased like a question, but it her tone made it clear it was demand.

Ethan nodded, avoided his gaze altogether, and left the room, leaving Stiles alone with a werewolf who was out for his blood. Alright, clearly his bravery and unwillingness to share with the class hadn’t convinced her that maybe she should just drop this. One could hope.

Jake must have been in the station, because he came in not more than a minute later. Stiles recognized him as the man she’d been arguing with earlier, but unlike earlier, he was now dressed in a deputy uniform.

“Jake is my top interrogator. He’s got a way of making people talk that doesn’t involve me getting my _claws_ dirty,” Ava said, comfortably leaning back in her chair as she regarded him with a slightly regretful smile. Stiles was not comforted.

Stiles swallowed heavily and looked at Jake. “You sound like my dad, he’s very good at having people tell him things, except that he does it with words and facial expressions, you know? He can lift an eyebrow and you’ll want to tell him everything. That’s probably why he made sheriff, because of his crazy eyebrow powers.” Not unlike Derek who’s eyebrows could have entire conversations without needing such basic things as words.

Jake didn’t look impressed with his verbal diarrhea. Ava looked vaguely amused, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“Not much of a talker, are you? That’s okay, I can talk for two. Did you know—” His sentence was rudely cut off by a punch to the face, the power behind it enough to knock him off his chair and onto the floor. Okay, time for talking was over, apparently.

Jake hoisted him up from the floor by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the glass, which shook a little at the sheer impact. Stiles could practically feel the bruise on his back forming already. Jake bared his, long, teeth at him. Crap.

He heard Ava’s chair scrape back and then she was standing by Jake’s left shoulder.

“I’m not messing around here, Stiles. All I want is some information, I will get that information one way or the other. Don’t make us do something that we’ll regret and end up badly for you.”

“I can see that, definitely not messing around, but if you would just hear me out, I think you’re really making a mistake here and I feel like I could make a good case as to why,” Stiles replied, brain working furiously to come up with a _good case_.

As it was, he didn’t need to try very hard, because it didn’t look like Ava was going to listen if the knee to his abdomen was anything to go by. The force of it was enough to make him want to double over and gasp for breath but he was still very firmly pressed up against the glass.

After that, there wasn’t a lot of time to talk, what with the punches and the kicks and the claws and the pain. He wasn’t on the floor for very long. As soon as Ava called Jake off, she hauled him up and deposited him back in his chair.

Now that he wasn’t bracing himself for more punches, he could take stock of his injuries. He could feel blood trickle down from his left temple, his nose was bleeding so much that he couldn’t be sure if the blood in his mouth was all from that or if he had a split lip, too. He could feel the bruise under his right eye getting worse, forcing his eye shut a little.

There was blood running down his lower back and left side from where Jake’s claws had dug into the flesh, probably not deep enough to do any real damage, but deep enough that it fucking hurt. His ribs felt sore and with the pain that seemed to be radiating from his midriff outwards, he wasn’t sure if any of his ribs were broken or not. He _was_ , however, fairly certain there was a boot imprint on his shoulder and the back of his thigh.

“This doesn’t have to get worse for you, Stiles. Jake didn’t break anything this time, but he easily can, I’m sure you’re aware of that. Derek isn’t worth this kind of loyalty. You don’t have to put yourself on the line for him,” Ava said, not at all unkindly, which Stiles hated her for just a little.  He’d rather she was being a cold-hearted bitch. She whispered something to Jake, who disappeared out of the room.

Stiles swallowed, almost gagging on the coppery taste in his throat. He stubbornly stayed silent.

Ava sighed. “I don’t like having to hurt you, Stiles, but as you’re well aware, I’m willing to go to some lengths to get this information. I admire your ability to stand up to physical pain, but there are other things I can try. I can get into your mind, which, trust me, is far more invasive and painful than this was.”

Stiles would have snorted if he hadn’t been aware that mind control was, unfortunately, very possible. He’d seen what it had done to Lydia. His mind hadn’t been a very nice place in the last couple of weeks, but it was still his. He couldn’t lose that last bit of himself. He closed his eyes, knowing he’d made a decision.

“What do you want to know?” he asked in resignation. His priority right now was to not die and stay sane, so he could work on some kind of plan later. Something, anything.

Jake returned with a bottle of water and a bucket, placing both in front of him.

“Spit,” Ava said, nodding towards the bucket. Stiles took a sip of water, let it go through his mouth and spit out the blood. He took a careful sip after that and swallowed it. “Now, who does Derek’s pack consist of?”

Stiles felt disgusted with himself for talking at all. He told them about Scott and how he got bit by Peter, about the three wolves Derek bit to expand his pack, he told them about Peter and his resurrection and about Jackson and the kanima, glossing over the parts where none of them knew what they were doing and presenting them as a united pack, rather than the scattered mess they were. He made sure not to tell a blatant lie, but stuck to half truths and lies by omission. He didn’t mention the hunters and she had no reason to ask. Maybe if she thought they were smart and organized, she wouldn’t bother luring them here. Of course, it didn’t work like that.

“A bunch of teenagers and an undead uncle, that’s Derek’s pack?” Ava asked, incredulously. Well, when she put it like that.

Stiles didn’t answer that because it sounded like a rhetorical question, more than anything.

“I think that’s enough for the day. Jake and I have a lot to discuss.” Ava paused at the door. “You did well today, Stiles. You’re clearly very loyal. We could use someone like you in our pack.”

Stiles was too stunned about the offer to come up with a witty, yet scathing retort. He was escorted to a holding cell at the back of the building. A glance out of the window told him it was dark outside. Jake shoved him into his cell. He stumbled, but managed to keep himself upright, turning just in the time to catch his jacket that was flung at his face.

“Thanks!” Stiles yelled sarcastically as the door closed on him.

There was a rickety bed and a toilet with a small sink on the opposite side of the bed, but aside from that, there was nothing. He sat down on the bed and started poking at his ribs to make sure they weren’t broken. He wasn’t entirely sure if he would be able to feel it himself, but nothing shifted so he figured they might just be bruised. He decided against taking of his shirt to check the bruising, because the blood on his back had dried and was making the t-shirt stick to the claw marks. At least his wounds had stopped bleeding.

He crossed the short distance to the sink and used the water to get rid of some of the dried up blood on his face, wincing as he inadvertently poked at the wounds.  His lip felt swollen now too and he was certain some of the blood had not come from his nose, which was sore enough as it was, but from his split lip.

He sat back down on the bed and wondered what the plan was now. They seemed to realize that if they called Derek and he decided to come, he would bring the pack, regardless of whether they warned him not to or not. Derek would come up with some kind of plan, but even if it was a good, well-thought one, which seemed unlikely, then what kind of chance did they stand? There was no possibility of a surprise attack, they’d probably be heard coming from miles away. They’d be heading into an ambush.

Stiles had no idea how big this pack was, but it seemed experienced and well-established. Even if they had a fighting chance, even if the numbers weren’t against them, then Derek and the others were still too untrained and not used to working together.

It was a disaster waiting to happen and Stiles was the cause of it. He swallowed back tears and pulled his knees up to his chest, wincing the whole time, but he couldn’t sit properly regardless of how he positioned himself. He couldn’t even sit still without being in pain.

He couldn’t let the pack head into an ambush. He needed to escape, warn Derek and get the hell out of town before they found out, which was probably easier said than done. He wished they hadn’t taken his wallet, he could do with a plastic card right now. He got up to pat down his pockets anyway, hoping to find his library card or some other card that had been left to rot slowly in his jeans, figuratively speaking.

He almost whooped when his fingers closed around something. He pulled it out triumphantly, pulling out his dad’s credit card. Of course! His dad had given it to him right before he left for _emergencies only,_ with the instruction to keep it on his person at all times. He’d totally not forgotten it was in his pocket. Anyway, what was a bigger emergency than being locked up in a cell?

His happiness diminished slightly when he realized locks in a sheriff’s department were probably credit card resistant. Still, it was something to try later. If this station was anything like the one in Beacon Hills, then it would be at minimum capacity during the night, leaving one person behind the front desk and something like two patrol agents on duty. With a little bit of luck, they’d be out and the person behind the desk wouldn’t be a werewolf. Even so, if they were human, they’d probably be in the know. He couldn’t imagine Ethan leaving anyone on shift that wasn’t aware of the illegal happenings in the building. For all he knew, the entire goddamn sheriff station consisted of human pack members.

He shoved the credit card back into his pocket and sat down, resigning himself to waiting until he had a chance. He felt the energy and adrenaline thrum through his body, dulling the pain.

Not long later, a young deputy he hadn’t seen before brought him what appeared to be microwavable mac and cheese with a coke in a plastic cup. Stiles’s eyes were drawn to the little plastic fork the plate held. That could be useful.

“Are you a werewolf too?” Stiles asked, figuring now was as good a time as any for some recon. He had to look pitiful and harmless enough with his bruises because he actually got an answer.

“No, Jake is the only one. The rest of us…” he trailed off, unsure of how to continue that sentence.

“Do the werewolves’ bidding?” Stiles finished knowingly, having plenty of experience with doing the bidding of werewolves who apparently lacked a functioning internet connection. And the bidding of werewolves who did have a functioning internet connection, but were just lazy bastards.

“Pretty much,” the deputy said, sounding bitter about it. Stiles saw an opening. Clearly, Ava’s spiel about treating human pack members right wasn’t entirely correct. Maybe he could get something out of the guy.

“I guess the sheriff’s station being used as a personal lock-up dungeon must be a pretty regular occurrence then?” To make it look as if he wasn’t actively trying to weasel information out of the guy, Stiles pulled the tray onto his lap and started eating, chewing slowly.

“Actually, no. You’re just special,” the deputy said with a sympathetic smile.

Stiles huffed out a laugh. “Lucky me.”

“Do you – Would you like an icepack for that eye?”

Stiles swallowed slowly, already nodding, before he got hit with an idea. “Yeah, that’d be great. And um, do you maybe have toothpicks? I’m going to assume I won’t actually get the chance to brush my teeth here and I’m not a big fan of getting food stuck between my teeth.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the deputy promised.

The door shut behind the deputy with a bang and Stiles stopped eating, if only to make sure that when the deputy came back, he wouldn’t take his tray away when he was done. When he heard footsteps approach, he started eating again.

The deputy had actually managed to find a couple of toothpicks and an icepack. Stiles took both with a muttered thanks.

“So, am I the only visitor tonight?” Stiles asked, with a nod towards the two cells next to him. The deputy confirmed that he was and then left again, telling him to get some sleep. It sounded almost kind and Stiles would perceive it as such if the guy wasn’t actually actively a part of his being held hostage.

He finished his bland tasting macaroni and set the tray down near the door, keeping the fork and the toothpicks in his pocket until he could attempt to stage his grand escape.

But first, he had another couple of hours alone with his thoughts, which, right now, didn’t sound like it would be all that fun.

Hearing Ava’s tale about the pack made him question his own again, or rather, the lack thereof. He wasn’t seriously considering taking her up on her offer, because his life was in Beacon Hills, even if, at the moment, it was less than stellar. Most importantly, his dad was there. He’d never leave him.

But still, it was a nice thought, being a part of something real, knowing he was valued for who he was and what he did. Belonging. Before everything, he’d felt like he’d belonged. Sure, Lydia didn’t as much as look his way, ever, and he didn’t have many friends, but that had been okay, because he’d had Scott. Scott had kept him grounded, had made him feel like he was a part of something.

He felt uprooted, sometimes, caught in trying to piece his life back together, coming to terms with the new additions and changed situations, but every time he had a handle on his feelings, something happened. Something changed that made his carefully crafted picture of the world shatter into a thousand puzzle pieces and then he’d have to start again, readjusting.  Sometimes, the pieces didn’t fit anymore. Sometimes, he needed help putting the pieces back together. It didn’t feel as if he was getting any kind of help. Not lately, at least.

The pack, mostly Derek, had saved him on numerous occasions, of course, only then to turn around and turn against him and Scott again. It was exhausting, trying to keep up with the underlying tensions and loyalties.

It didn’t help that his feelings for Derek had changed into something a little more fuzzy. Last thing he needed was a repeat of the Lydia situation. That was only complicate things further. He wanted to uncomplicated things. He didn’t want Beacon Hills to be a war zone, because of pack issues and feelings and whatever else that was working actively against them trying to form a united front. He wanted to be able to help Derek and the pack and know they’d help him, he wanted to know that they were in this together, for better or for worse. He needed to know that, for his own sanity, for his ability to maybe try piecing the puzzle back together.

When his eyes started stinging, he figured he’d spent enough time waiting around. There was a little window in the door, which Stiles used to make sure there wasn’t anywhere near, before he pulled out his credit card, fork and toothpick.

He felt like a regular MacGyver when he bent one of the tines upwards, before snapping off the remaining two. He put the toothpick on the bottom, pushing it a little to the right, before he inserted the fork. He knew he was supposed to be able to feel the pins and push them up, but he wasn’t feeling much of anything and he had the sneaky suspicion his plastic fork wasn’t quite cut out for the job.

After a couple of minutes of aimless fumbling and pricking himself in the thumb with the toothpick, he gave up on that method. Clearly he needed some more practice if he ever wanted to be MacGyver.

That left him with his credit card. He took a deep breath and fervently hoped this was actually going to work. He slid the credit card between the door and the post and started working it down, putting as much weight on it as he dared. It took him a bit of wheedling but eventually, he felt the lock give and the door opened.

He muffled an exclamation of victory in his fist and carefully eased the door open, wincing when it creaked a little bit. When no one came running, he figured it was safe enough to leave.

He snuck his way over to the open door which was connected to the hallway and stuck his head out. When it became apparent that it was clear, he continued his trip, walking as quickly as he dared while trying to make as little noise as possible. His breathing was labored and too fast, restless energy probably the only thing that kept him from fainting from sheer nerves.

His breath hitched when he heard voices from around the corner. He froze in place, but the voices weren’t coming closer. He was almost at the front desk now. He needed to create some kind of distraction that would allow him to make a run for it. He should have thought that far ahead, although it was hard to come up with a plan when he had nothing at his disposal, other than a toothpick, a fork and a credit card. Not exactly a lot of options.

He crept closer to the corner, keeping his ears poised for sounds coming closer. He took a deep breath and dared risking a glance around the corner. Between him and the front desk there was a half open door. Stiles could see two deputies with their backs to him, standing behind the desk and looking at something on their computer screen.

The door to get outside was on their right. He could possibly creep far enough that by the time they noticed him, he was out the door running, provided they kept their backs turned.

That still left the question where exactly he could go without his wallet and keys. He could probably break into his own car, hotwire it (thank god he read and remembered weird things, mostly from paperwork his dad brought home on occasion which he was technically not allowed to read) and get out of dodge, but that still left him without means to get in touch with Derek, although he was sure that if he was far enough away, he could find himself a motel and use their phone, thanks to his emergency credit card.

That was his best bet so far.

He took another steadying breath and got down on all fours, feeling a lot ridiculous and a little hopeful that this was going to work.

It didn’t.

Whatever they’d been looking at on the computer stopped being able to hold their attention. Stiles wasn’t far enough that he could use the front desk as cover, so when one of the turned around, he got a clear view of Stiles.

“Crap,” Stiles cursed with passion. He was on his feet by the time the deputy reached him, wincing when his muscles very much protested against the sudden movement.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, smirking.

“My cell was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic, you know? So I figured I could go for a little walk and have a nice chat with you and your, no doubt, lovely colleague,” Stiles replied, with a wide smile at the female, who looked a little bit amused.

“Uhuh, nice try.” The man grabbed his arm and started forcibly dragging him back to his cell. His grip eased up slightly when Stiles very visibly flinched. “Points for trying, kid, but I can’t let this pass. Nothing personal.”

“Well, you know, the sheriff’s son comes with the disadvantage that all the talk about upholding the law just makes me want to break it. I’ve acquired some useful skills over the years,” Stiles remarked.

“How did you get the door open?” the deputy asked, with a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“A fork and a toothpick,” Stiles replied, brightly, using the fact that the deputy was not paying much attention to him other than dragging him with him to stuff the credit card in his underwear. He doubted he’d be able to stage another escape attempt, but he’d like to hold onto the card anyway.

“Give them to me,” the deputy ordered.

Stiles grudgingly handed them over and winced when the door slammed shut. This time, the deputy took up guard at the table, which made it impossible for him to try and escape again.

Sighing, he laid down on the bed and carefully lowered himself onto the cot, sliding under the blanket and trying to find a position that hurt the least. He figured he might as well get some sleep now that he’d ruined his only chance at getting away.

Sleep came surprisingly easy, but was fitful at best. He dreamt of howling wolves and bloody leaves in the forest.

\--

“So, Stiles, I heard about your little stunt last night. Impressive,” Ava said, sounding honestly impressed.

They were sitting in the same interrogation room as before. Stiles had gotten breakfast that morning, a couple of pieces of toast and cheese, with a cup of water. His demand for Coco Puffs had fallen on deaf ears.

“Thanks, I have problems sitting still.”

“Clearly. Have you given my offer any thought? We could definitely use someone as resourceful as you,” Ava said, seizing him up.

“I wouldn’t join your pack in a million years,” Stiles spit out.

“We’ll talk about that later, then. It’s time to call Derek first.”

“Good luck with that. He doesn’t even know who you are,” Stiles noted. Derek rarely picked up his cell phone, let alone when it was an unknown number calling.

Ava held out Stiles’s own cell phone (the nerve!) for him, Derek’s number already pulled up. “Which is why you’re going to call him and convince him to come. Tell him he has 24 hours or you die.  Tell him to bring the pack or don’t, doesn’t matter, we both know he will. Simple enough, right?”

Jake cracked his knuckles obnoxiously loud, so Stiles took the cell phone and hit call, praying Derek wouldn’t actually answer his phone. The phone rang, once, twice. Stiles was feeling cautiously optimistic that Derek wasn’t going to answer. Three times, four times. Stiles was almost ready to hang up. But then Derek picked up. 

There was another beat before Derek said anything. “ _Stiles_ ,” he spoke, the tone half question, half acknowledgment.

“Um, remember how you said it wasn’t safe for me to leave town?” Stiles opened with.

“ _Who has you?”_ Derek asked, sounding suspiciously resigned and not at all surprised. Stiles felt offended. Seriously, it wasn’t his fault he wandered into hostile territory, not knowing there was hostile territory to begin with. He should have been taught about these kinds of things.

“Does the name Bryant ring any bells?”

“ _Should it?_ ” Derek asked after a pause.

“It would be a lot easier if it had, yeah,” Stiles replied, with his best ‘I-told-you-so’ bitch face directed at Ava, not even doubting that she was listening to the other side of the conversation. Stiles picked up another voice on the other end of the line, which he figured was Peter and Derek said something like ‘look it up’, so Peter seemed to have some kind of idea.

Ava made a motion with her hand that clearly said carry on. Stiles rolled his eyes at her.

“I’m supposed to tell you that you have 24 hours to get here, here being Jackson, Wyoming, and if you don’t, they’ll kill me. I’m definitely not supposed to tell you that it’s an ambush to kill you, so stay away or --” That’s as far as he got before Jake cut him off with a well aimed punch to his already injured jaw, while Ava plucked the cell phone out of his hand. He’d been expecting it as soon as he started warning Derek off, so he used the table as leverage to stop himself from collapsing to the floor.

Even so, the punch made his ears ring and the blood roar in his ears, missing a part of the conversation.

“Oh, sweetie, he’s already injured, the only thing you can do is prevent him from being killed. 10 am tomorrow, sheriff’s station, you’ll get further instructions there.” Ava hung up on Derek and tucked his cell phone in her jeans pocket.

“Cute, you trying to get a warning to Derek.”

“As if it’s not glaringly obvious anyway. You’re not going to kidnap me if you just wanted him over for a tea party,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

Ava laughed, a genuine laugh that sounded melodious. It would be a nice laugh if she wasn’t a psychotic bitch.

“I’ll concede the point. You’ve got spirit, kid,” Ava said, with a hint of approval in her voice that made Stiles feel more uncomfortable than when she was being vicious. She sounded almost appreciative. He’d be flattered if it wasn’t sad that his kidnapper appreciated him more than the hot mess he’d left behind in Beacon Hills.

“It’s my best quality.”

Ava smirked. “Knowing when to keep your mouth shut would be a better one.”

Stiles made a face. “Kind of impossible for me.”

\--

With nothing to do but count down time until ten am the next morning, which was made difficult by the lack of a clock, Stiles couldn’t escape the thoughts that ran rampant through his mind.

His thoughts were a mix of _please god, let him decide to stay in Beacon Hills_ and _please god, let him have a plan._ He couldn’t decide if it would be worse to be abandoned, or to have Derek show up, only to see him get killed. The latter _should_ feel worse, but the selfish part of him, the part of him that didn’t want to die at 17, really wanted Derek and the pack to make an effort.

The thought of there being any kind of plan sounded unlikely, even to him. Scott would come. If Derek talked to him, Scott would come running, brave, but stupid and foolish, without a plan, because that was the kind of person he was. Except maybe not, because he had had a plan to overcome the Gerard-problem.

They’d been friends for too long for Scott to ever turn his back on him, willingly and consciously, in a life threatening situation, even if things were screwed up between them. Their friendship ran deeper than that. For all intents and purposes, they were brothers, bonded together through tragedy and heartbreak, kept together by mutual interests. Stiles couldn’t see that changing, simply refused to.

The other five werewolves Stiles wasn’t sure about. Peter might just come along to watch Derek die, or something. Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Jackson didn’t, or simply didn’t want to, trust Derek enough to follow him, as evidenced by the fact that Erica and Boyd had actually thought they could join another pack, the fact that Derek had technically killed Jackson, even though that had completed his werewolf transformation and the fact that Isaac was more likely to follow Scott. Actually, Isaac might just come.

The odds were _not_ in their favor.

Stiles sighed heavily and tried to think about the good times he’d had that year instead. Although few and far between and most ruined by some kind of supernatural occurrence, there had been good times. Playing first line and making the winning goal (until he got kidnapped by Gerard), prom and dancing with Lydia (until she realized she wanted Jackson and then almost got herself killed), Lydia’s birthday party (aside from the scary hallucinations), game nights with Scott when the only thing they were trying to avoid was homework (mostly accompanied by monologues about Allison’s _everything)_ , visiting the gay club, which had been eye-opening (until that went pear-shaped), and helping Lydia save the day (until she confessed her undying love for Jackson).

Yeah, the Lydia ship had very firmly sailed and he wasn’t on it, stranded alone on an island instead. He should probably feel worse about that than he did. Sure, at the moment itself, it had felt like a punch to the gut and he’d _maybe_ had to blink back tears, but all in all, he’d seen it coming, felt like it was inevitable. But a part of him was still in mourning, the part that was not currently interested in Derek.

Another part of him kept insisting he’d been holding on to the crush because it had been the only constant in his life, his only reminder of the life _before_ when everything around him changed, but even that wasn’t true. _Before_ Lydia hadn’t known he existed, now they were forming a tentative friendship and, gradually, his feelings for her had all but disappeared, not because she was any less beautiful or amazing or smart, but _because_  she was beautiful and amazing and smart. Jackson and Lydia hurt each other and got back together, that was how their relationship went. A friendship was easier to maintain, less likely to break. He would always have a soft spot for her, but it was already bordering on platonic.

Then there was Derek. Derek who frustrated him beyond belief, who still scared him sometimes, who took his crap, who needed saving and saved him in return, who trusted no one, but still came to him for help when he needed it, who had ridiculous abs and a ridiculous jaw line.

He wasn’t blind, okay? Derek was an attractive guy, as was Danny. Hell, Jackson was attractive but the douchiness was pretty much a turn off and Scott… okay, he wasn’t even going to go there, because Scott was like his brother, eww.  

He’d noticed lately that his attraction towards, say, Danny, was different than his attraction towards Derek, in the sense that Derek could get his pulse racing in a way that Danny couldn’t, and he’d seen Danny naked, definitely nothing be ashamed of there.

Derek was different. Derek was _…_ _Derek_ , which said enough given their, admittedly, shaky start, what with him and Scott getting Derek arrested and making him the most wanted fugitive in the state. Twice. Derek hadn’t killed him for it, which Stiles took as a sign that Derek, at the very least, tolerated him.

They were… Stiles didn’t know what they were right now. They weren’t friends, but they weren’t enemies, they were floating in a weird kind of limbo where they saved each other’s lives on a monthly basis. That was something, that was a bond, of sorts, a prelude to a friendship, maybe.

He wanted to be Derek’s friend, he wanted Derek to have someone to talk to when he felt the need. Derek had been dealt truly shitty cards in life, having lost his entire family (except for an undead uncle) at such an early age, having loved but lost.

Stiles had been destroyed when he’d lost his mom. He could barely remember the weeks, the months after she’d passed away, days passing a blur of denial. His dad had been there, equally destroyed. Scott had been there, often just sitting with him, neither saying a word. Gradually, he’d clawed his way out of the hole he’d sunken into, gradually he’d started smiling again, but it had taken a long time.

Sometimes he couldn’t believe that Derek was actually still standing, still fighting for _something._ He was stronger than all of them combined. He deserved a chance to do something great.

Stiles had, unwillingly, played a part in possibly preventing him from being able to pursue that change by wandering into the territory of a werewolf with a personal vendetta.

He really hoped Derek wasn’t going to come for him, he hoped that Derek would put the pack and his territory above everything.

\--

The early morning sun filtered in through the window, casting stripes across the floor of the small room, illuminating a bed with an old mattress, a flat pillow and a blanket that had long since had its best time. The other side of the room was cloaked in a weird grey hue, not yet light but not completely dark either.

That was where Stiles was sitting, back against the wall that held the window and facing the door with his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at his ankles. Despite being tired, sleep had barely come that night. His ears had been poised for every sound and creak from outside, his mind racing too much to be able to calm it down enough to find rest. He’d dozed off a couple of times, only to be snapped back into a wakeful state seconds, possibly minutes, later.

The night had stretched on endlessly without means to tell the time. At least now he knew the new day was almost starting. He was dreading it as much as he was welcoming it, because one way or another, something was going to happen. Whatever did happen, it probably wasn’t going to end well for him.

His breath hitched a little and then he grimaced when a stab of pain rippled through his abdomen and back. It had been pretty hard to forget his injuries what with the constant thrum of pain beneath his skin, but the sharp reminder was still an unwelcome one. At least nothing was broken. Maximum amount of pain, minimal amount of actual damage. Small mercies. Adderall withdrawal wasn’t helping matters any either. Sure, this wasn’t the first time he’d gone without a couple of days, but the added anxiety wasn’t helping matters much.

He sighed and let his head drop back against the wall, closing his eyes.

The world outside was starting to wake up. He could hear the traffic picking up, people walking by and carrying on their morning affairs, chattering excitedly or yelling about something. He briefly contemplated yelling for help, but that would be an exercise in futility. He might as well save his voice, especially if he was right about the worst being yet to come.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he sat there, just waiting, when he heard the key being turned in the lock. He opened his eyes, staring at the door apprehensively, warily. He thought about getting up, but then decided that if they wanted him up, they could drag him up.

The door opened, revealing the young deputy he’d seen two days earlier. The man gave him a small, sympathetic smile, which made Stiles want to roll his eyes, before he set down a plate of food on the floor. Then, he was gone again, the key turning firmly into the lock. The sound in the otherwise quiet felt ominous.

Stiles eyed the food. It was just bread with cheese and a cup of water. He figured it could be worse. He figured the food meant they had no immediate plans to kill him yet. Small mercies.

He did push himself up then, wincing at the pain in his side, only to retrieve the plate, before he settled himself back against the wall. He took small bites, chewing slowly, because there was nothing else to do.

Nothing but wait for the inevitable.

\--

It was almost a relief when Ava came to get him from his cell, flanked by Jake and another burly werewolf he hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting before.

“It’s almost show time, sweetheart. Your friends are on their way, they just crossed the town border,” Ava informed him.

Stiles felt dread pool in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to ask how many of them had come. He wanted to freaking yell at them for being stupid enough to walk into an ambush.

Ava and the werewolves escorted him out of the building and into a grey Volvo. Apparently, the big show down wasn’t going to happen somewhere as potentially crowded as a sheriff’s station. Good, at least there wouldn’t be any collateral damage.

 “Hey, you remember what I said about that tea party? Maybe it’s not too late for that. We can all go to Sandy’s dinner, her food is great, I bet her tea is too,” Stiles rambled, not caring in the slightest that he sounded almost pleading.

“You know that’s not an option, Stiles,” Ava said, sounding a bit regretful.

“Why not? It’s not written in stone that blood has to be spilled. You can negotiate a truce. Holding a grudge is exhausting, why put yourself through that?” Stiles reasoned.

“There won’t be a grudge after today,” Ava replied, voice the wrong side of ominous.

“Do you want to bet? Because if I somehow get out of here and one of my friends get killed, I’ll come for you myself,” Stiles said fiercely. He could do it, too. He would just need to find the Argents, they’d be more than happy to put down some werewolves.

He figured him running his mouth would earn him another punch to the face but instead, Ava was seizing him up, calculating.

“Nope, no, if you’re thinking about turning me, think again. I will turn on you, alpha or not,” Stiles promised darkly. He wasn’t fooled by his own sudden bravery, it was fuelled by desperation, a wish to prevent whatever bloodshed was about to occur.

They reached an abandoned warehouse complex on the outskirts of the town. Stiles almost rolled his eyes, because, hello, cliché. There were two two-story building and one three-story building. Most of the windows were cracked or gone, the plants growing wildly all around emphasizing its disuse. The complex appeared to be pretty close to the main road, Stiles could hear a steady stream of traffic.

They headed inside. Stiles couldn’t contain a small gasp at the sight of about fifteen wolfed out men and women, and these were probably only the ones he could see. Screwed, they were screwed.  

“Ten minutes,” Jake announced.

They took up position in front of the wolves, Stiles held between Ava and Jake.

The minutes ticket by incredibly slow, none of the werewolves talking. He could practically feel the apprehension roll off of all of them. Next to him, Jake and Ava were rigid with tension, their bodies unnaturally stiff, but Stiles wasn’t fooled. They were poised to pounce as soon as it was necessary.   

Stiles was hyperaware of the tension running through his own body, his breathing becoming more shallow as time crept by, the cold sweat that broken out on his skin, the way his hands were clenched too tight.

He didn’t need werewolf hearing to hear the cars approach. For a second, his heart actually stuttered and stopped, before starting again with a painful double beat and exhalation of air.

“Don’t,” he pleaded, not sure if it was meant for the werewolves next to him or the ones outside. Either, both, it didn’t matter.

The slamming of doors was unmistakable. Stiles watched in rising horror as Derek entered, Peter and Scott beside him, Erica, Boyd and Isaac behind them, all looking grim. At this point, he was glad Jackson wasn’t here to be killed.

His friends stopped several feet from them, standing in one straight line. Even thought they looked impressing, all wolfed out by the time they came to a stop, they were hugely outnumbered. Stiles tried to catch Derek’s eye but his gaze was trained firmly on Ava. Scott met his eyes though and he gave him a wicked grin. Stiles was not reassured, more like horrified. They were prepared for a fight.

“You have something of ours,” Derek spoke, voice level and almost pleasant.

Stiles spluttered, because he was not an object, thank you very much. He was about to say as much but Ava’s claws digging into his arm in warning brought him back to the current problem and he decided it would be wise to, for once, keep it zipped.

“Quite an extraordinary addition to your pack, I must say. Feisty, loyal. I’m thinking we should keep him, what do you think?” Ava asked in a tone of voice that was just meant to rile them up, make them act rashly.

Scott snarled, but Derek remained eerily calm.

“I think that would be foolish,” Peter spoke up. “I offered him the bite once, he said no. I don’t think he’ll take too kindly to being forced.”

Derek did twitch now, but to his credit, his gaze remained unwaveringly trained on Ava.

Hang on, did Peter just compliment him? Fuck his life.

“I’ve heard about your little family drama. Stiles, here, was very forthcoming with information about your merry little band of misfits after the proper… persuasion, let’s call it that.”

Scott snarled again and he looked about ready to lunge. He didn’t though and Stiles thanked his lucky stars that Scott had learned to control himself along the way.

“Oh, before this gets ugly, I should probably mention that Stiles and I struck a deal. We really only want Derek. Everyone else has the option of leaving right now,” Ava said, and actually let go of his arm.

Stiles remained frozen, eyes trained on Derek. He could see Derek swallow, a look flashing in his eyes that might have been resignation, but certainly wasn’t surprise.

“Eye for an eye. I die, you’ll have avenged your pack member.” Derek’s voice didn’t even shake. There was acceptance in his eyes. He knew about the history, he knew about the blood feud and the stupid fucker was actually going to accept his faith. Stiles could see it in his eyes.

“No!” The surprised exclamation was Boyd, always quick to catch on.

“No,” Scott echoed.

“This is Sparta,” Stiles muttered under his breath, because sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. It earned him an amused smirk from Peter. Stiles made a face. Amusing Peter right now was nowhere on his list of things he want to accomplish at this point in time.

“Yes,” Derek said, quietly. “Go!”

No one moved, not even Stiles.

“Having some insubordination problems there, Derek?” Ava asked, sounding unsurprised and almost gleeful. She’d probably anticipated this situation, she’d probably guessed that the pack wouldn’t abandon their alpha just like that, which meant that she’d probably known that when she cut the deal which made her a huge –

“Bitch!” Stiles exclaimed. “You knew they would all come from the start, you knew they would all be willing to die!”

“A pack is a powerful thing, Stiles. It’s a strong bond, binding all its members together, it’s a family. You don’t let your family die, not even when you’re being ordered to go,” Ava spoke, baring her teeth at him in an approximation of a smile.

“Let’s renegotiate. Stiles gets to leave. If he does, I’ll go quietly,” Derek promised. “Apparently I can’t make the same guarantee for the rest of the pack so you’ll have to take your chances there.”

Stiles turned wide eyes on Derek. As if he was leaving them here! As if he was considering walking away. He was shaking his head and intended to call the lot of them crazy, but Ava agreed, all but shoved him forward. He stumbled briefly before regaining his balance. He walked a couple of steps, comforted when he didn’t feel claws rip through his back.

His mind was still working furiously. This didn’t make sense. There had to be a plan, other than taking their chances with fighting. They knew their chances. Erica and Boyd had been on the verge of leaving and now they were willing to die for Derek, Scott was still here, not even a part of Derek’s pack, yet he refused to budge, but maybe that was more for Stiles than for Derek. He sought their faces as he crossed the distance, but their gazes were locked on the other side.

When he got within reach, Scott grabbed his arm and pulled him behind him. Scott met his eyes and winked, just as Jake said “something’s wrong.”

It happened quickly after that. Glass shattered as Scott pulled him to the ground, putting a hand in front of his eyes, tugging his head against his shoulder, shielding him from a bright flash of light he could still see around the edges. There were pained screams coming from across the warehouse.

Stiles barely had time to process that he was on the ground and that his ribs were protesting because in the next second, Scott was gone. Stiles almost fell over from his crouch due to the loss of the weight keeping him upright. He blinked, seeing the smoke and the fights that were going on, hearing the snarls and the tearing of flesh and clothes. Several of Ava’s werewolves appeared to be down but Stiles couldn’t tell from this distance whether they were dead or not.

“Stiles!”

He recognized that voice, that was –

“Jackson?”

“Come on, move!” Jackson, wolfed-out, grabbed his arm and dragged him forcibly towards the exit of the warehouse. Stiles was too stunned and winded from trying to breathe through the smoke and pain to put up much of a fight. They made it out unharmed, finding a grey Ford Fiesta right outside, Chris at the wheel and Allison sitting next to him, grinning brightly. Jackson shoved him in the backseat. The tires screeched as they left at full speed.

“What—” _is going on? What are you doing here? What are_ they _doing? What the hell is the plan?_  There were so many questions running through his head that he didn’t know which one to ask first.

“Explanations later, we need to get out of here first,” Chris answered.

“What about the others?” Stiles asked frantically. He was pretty sure that another werewolf and two hunters would be more useful inside the building than tearing away from it.

Allison twisted around in her seat to look at him. “They’ll be following behind, don’t worry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! What’s not fine is that Derek and the others are outnumbered!”

Allison flashed him a grin. “We evened the odds. Don’t worry, we’re prepared, the Bryants weren’t.”

“What about my jeep and my things?”

“Taken care of, they’re driving it back later,” Allison answered.

Stiles was stunned. Not only had there been a plan, there had been a well thought out plan that involved a level of cooperation and coordination that they hadn’t achieved yet in previous crisis situations.

They sped through town, the seatbelt keeping Stiles in place making his midsection hurt more. Jackson was constantly twisted back in his seat to look out the back, head tilted, no doubt listening for signs that they were being followed. Allison was doing the same, glancing out the side door mirror and looking around. Stiles could see she had a small crossbow in her lap. Chris’s eyes were half on the road and half in the rearview mirror. Nothing was going to get to them without someone in the car picking up on it.

Stiles expected them to stop outside of the city borders, but instead, they drove an extra half an hour, Chris going so fast that Stiles was sure he was going to have fines waiting for him by the time he got home. Eventually, they pulled off on the side of the road at a small, deserted clearing.

They piled out of the car. Chris handed both him and Jackson a gun.

“Just to be on the safe side. We weren’t followed,” Chris said at Stiles’s questioning look.

“What now?” Stiles asked, glancing between Chris, Allison and Jackson.

“We wait. This is our meeting point. If they haven’t made it back here in 90 minutes, we are to leave immediately and set course for Beacon Hills,” Chris explained.

“If they haven’t – You made the plan sound a lot more foolproof before!” Stiles exclaimed.

“The plan worked. The plan was to get you out. You’re out,” Jackson pointed out helpfully.

Stiles gaped. “That’s a stupid plan! Who came up with that? I’d like to amend the plan and include driving back right now to provide back up!” He waved his gun around for emphasis only to have it plucked out of his fingers by Chris.

“On second thought, maybe you should not be carrying a firearm,” Chris said with a grimace, checking to see if the safety was still on.

“I’m the sheriff’s son, I know my way around a gun, give me that,” Stiles snapped, taking the gun back, simply because he could.

“You’re okay with waiting?” Stiles asked, turning on Allison instead. She and Scott might be broken up right now, but he knew enough to realize that they would always love each other to some extent. The fact that she wasn’t backing him up on rushing back was weird.

Allison gave him an uneasy look. “It was partly Scott’s idea, get us all out of harm’s way.”

Stiles huffed. “Now’s not a good time to start listening to him.”

Allison gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. While we wait, my dad should probably take a look at your wounds. There’s a hospital about a half an hour drive away if you need it.”

Stiles waved her off, the reminder of the pain making it sink in again now that the adrenaline was also wearing off. “Nothing’s broken, just injured.”

“I still think you should let me be the judge of that.” Chris said, pulling out a first-aid kit. Wow, they really were prepared.

Reluctantly, Stiles let Chris take stock of his injuries. With some water, they got the t-shirt unstuck from his back so Chris could take a look at the claw marks and impressive bruises that littered his torso. Jackson was already digging through his duffel bags for a clean shirt. Chris disinfecting the wounds made Stiles hiss, but the rest of the probing, he took like a man, which was to say that he groaned and not whimpered, no matter what Jackson said.

“Nothing looks infected as of yet, but we need to keep checking that,” Chris concluded, wrapping a bandage tightly around his midsection. The bandage also took some off the pressure on his ribs away. Stiles pulled on a clean shirt.

“So,” Stiles started, turning to Jackson, “How did you get stuck with monitoring the humans?”

Jackson gave him a disdainful look. “Derek said I wasn’t ready to fight, I don’t have enough control or whatever. It was safer they keep me out of the way.”

Stiles made a noise of agreement. “Probably for the best. Wouldn’t want you killing Scott to become the only captain again.”

Jackson growled at him, which was mildly amusing. Stiles had always pictured Jackson’s growl being more terrifying what with him being plenty terrifying in real life, but instead, he wasn’t intimidated much. Maybe he was becoming immune to growls as a side effect from having Derek growl at him so much. That’d be good. Or maybe he was just beyond caring at this point. Probably the latter. Maybe Jackson should try again next week.

“I’m surprised you came at all.”

This time, he got an incredulous look. “You helped save me.”

“I helped _Lydia_ save you,” Stiles corrected.

“I’m helping _Derek_ save you,” Jackson countered.

Allison rolled her eyes at them and pointedly turned her back, striking up a conversation with her father.

Stiles huffed and fell silent. It lasted all of ten seconds.

“So, while we wait, what was the plan?” he asked. “Other than getting me out.”

 “Allison and I didn’t stray far from Beacon Hills, what with the Alpha pack around. We needed some distance, but we figured we might be needed, too. Derek called us as soon as Bryant called him. By the time we reached the town, Peter had found information about the feud on his laptop. We figured they wanted Derek dead, we knew we were hugely outnumbered, so we had to be smart.”

Stiles snorted. Chris cracked a smile.

“Bryant said to come to the sheriff’s station to get further instructions, which we figured meant they weren’t going to risk doing anything in the middle of the town. They must have taken into account that Derek would bring the pack and would not go quietly, so we pulled up the town schematics. We assumed they would choose a place far away, but a place that made it easy to contain people. That ruled out the surrounding forests, too easy to run, so we were left with the warehouses.”

“Okay, makes sense,” Stiles said, honestly impressed.

“We knew they’d be on the look-out for the werewolves, so we had to be careful. We figured there would be a look out of sorts, alerting the pack to Derek’s presence. We – Allison and I – couldn’t risk travelling with the werewolves. We left earlier than they did, drove straight through the night. By the time we got to the warehouses, having left the car at a prearranged point, it was 8 am. We staked out the place to make sure it was empty and waited out of sight for the werewolves to arrive.”

“How come they didn’t smell you or hear you?” Stiles asked, a little confused.  

“I’ve been in this world for a long time, Stiles. There are ways to mask a smell, even a heartbeat. We would never be able to be completely invisible, knocking something over would be disastrous, but what little noise we did make, they could chalk up to something else. They had no reason to believe we were there. At half past nine, the werewolves started arriving, so all we had to do was take up position in the warehouse across the street, weapons at the ready. We saw you arrive with Bryant, we saw the others arrive. Jackson drove in the car, just in time for the show to get started. You know the rest,” Chris finished, with a pleased, if not smug expression on his face.

“Wow, just wow. That actually sounds like a reasonably thought out plan. Who came up with it?”

“Mostly Derek, Peter and my dad. Scott made sure to include finding your jeep,” Allison replied, with a small, fond smile.

“Derek made me sniff it out. Practice,” Jackson grumbled with a frown of disgust.

“Hey, man, I smell like daisies and sunshine, my smell is not that bad,” Stiles complained and then tried to subtly sniff his own armpits. Okay, now was not a good indicator. He definitely did smell right now, through no fault of his own.

Jackson leveled him with a look that told him exactly what he thought of that, which is to say that he thought that was bullshit. Stiles grinned.

They lapsed into silence again, for real this time. Stiles caught Chris sneaking glances at his watch more than once, which didn’t inspire the greatest confidence in Stiles. The others had been given 90 minutes but that felt like too long for a fight.

Every time a car came from the direction of the town, all three humans stood up a little straighter, Jackson shaking his head every time, probably being able to recognize the car by sound long before it came into view.

They’d been standing there close to the allotted ninety minutes when Jackson went from leaning against the car to standing up straight, head tilted towards the sound of approaching cars. Stiles felt relief course through him until he saw the frown on Jackson’s face.

“What?” Allison asked, anxiously, also having picked up on it.

Stiles’s jeep came around the bent first, but it wasn’t Scott driving it back, it was Isaac, Erica next to him. There was a second car behind them with Boyd and Peter. Derek’s Camaro as well as Derek and Scott were nowhere to be seen.

The two cars pulled to a stop behind them, the four werewolves leaping out to meet them. Their injuries seemed to have mostly healed already, their clothes mostly ripped. Erica’s hair was a mess, while Isaac was favoring his right leg. Boyd was cradling his left arm to his chest. Even Peter looked ruffled.

“What happened?” Jackson asked, sounding just a little anxious.

“We were – it was bad. We were still outnumbered, they were still stronger. Derek ordered us to go, said to come find you and get the hell out of here,” Erica said, shaking visibly.

“And Scott?” Allison asked, the worry clear in her voice.

“Still does the exact opposite of what he’s told,” Peter replied, one corner of his mouth twisting up in a half smirk of glee. Stiles was going to punch him in the face, werewolf or not, but there were more pressing matters.

“So, you left them to fend for themselves? What happened to your earlier objections against leaving?” Stiles almost shouted.

“The plan was to get you out, give you a head start. We did,” Isaac replied, swallowing visibly. “Those were our orders.”

“Seriously! As of now, saving yourselves and each other is a part of every fucking plan we come up with. We have to go back!” This time, he was shouting. Scott and Derek weren’t dying because of him, _for_ him. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

“We have to _leave,_ ” Peter countered. “The whole plan will be futile if we go back and you still die.”

“That’s your nephew you’re abandoning!” Stiles exploded. It was only Allison’s hand on his shoulder that was stopping him from seeing if he was more likely to break his own hand or injure Peter in some way. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised though. This was the same guy who had killed his niece. He wouldn’t stop at anything to get to the top of the food chain again.

“Derek knew the risks,” Peter said with a casual shrug.

Stiles wasn’t sure why he was even considering punching him when he had a gun at his disposal equipped with wolfsbane bullets.

“Peter’s right,” Chris gritted out. “The plan was to wait ninety minutes. We did. We’re leaving.”

“Dad!” Allison objected, horrified. Great, it was a little late to have her support now.

“Fifteen minutes. We wait for another fifteen minutes,” Stiles said decisively. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. Allison did the same next to him, glaring for all she was worth at her father. Jackson leaned back against the car, looking comfortable and definitely not willing to leave.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Have it your way. It’s your funeral.”

Stiles uncrossed his arms and determinedly stared off in the direction of the town, knowing it was pointless. Everyone around him would probably pick up on them approaching first, but it gave him something to do.  
  
Allison slipped her hand in his. Stiles could feel her tremble. He figured this had never been part of the plan, he figured that everyone had thought their chances were good. Either that, or Derek’s self-sacrificing streak had kicked in from the beginning, knowing it was going to fail in the end.

Of course Scott had thwarted him again in attempt to… what? Save him in return for once? Out-martyr him, maybe?

Stiles couldn’t figure out what could have gone on in that stupid head of Scott’s. He couldn’t bear the thought of Scott dying. He couldn’t bear the thought of Derek dying.

That last hit him like a ton of bricks. Sure, this wasn’t the first time they’d found themselves in precarious situations with the possibility of an unfavorable outcome, but there had always been a form of hope that he or they were going to be okay, mostly because he was usually capable of _doing something,_ the time at the sheriff’s station excluded and the time they thought Derek was dead.

This time though, all they could do was wait and see if they were going to return.

“The fifteen minutes are up,” Peter announced, after a glance at his watch. “We have to go.”

Chris sprung into action immediately. “Isaac, take the jeep with Stiles and Erica. Peter, you’re bringing up the rear with Boyd. Allison, Jackson, you’re with me.”

“But dad –”

“Allison, we can’t. If they come for us, we’re sitting ducks. We can’t go back, we can’t wait. Derek and Scott are – They’ll follow if they can.”

Isaac was already pulling on his arm, leading him towards the jeep. He wanted to protest, wanted to fight but he recognized this was the sensible solution. They should have been back by now, that was an undisputable fact. Stiles went, feeling his throat close up and tears sting. Isaac wasn’t in a better state, but he looked determined. He opened the door for Stiles.

“Wait, wait!” Boyd yelled. They all froze, Stiles with one leg into the car.

The werewolves were focused on something in the distance. Seconds later, Stiles heard a car approaching at a rapid speed, before the Camaro tore through the bent, skidding to screeching halt next to the jeep.

To Stiles’s surprise, Scott was behind the wheel, with Derek in the passenger seat. Scott scrambled out, immediately greeted by Allison’s arms around him. Stiles beat the others to Derek’s side, yanking the door open. Derek looked pale, hands covering a still bleeding wound on his abdomen. Derek made to get out of the car but Stiles stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t get up yet.”

Derek glared and, gently, shoved past him to get out, leaning against the car. The others were staring at them from behind the line of cars.

“What are you still doing here?” Derek growled at everyone in general.

“Your humans refused to leave,” Peter drawled. “Nothing I could do.”

Scott seemed less bothered by the refusal to follow orders and threw his arms around him, a little too tightly, making Stiles wince but he returned the enthusiastic hug anyway, too relieved that his best friend was safe to complain about his bruised ribs.

“We’re leaving right now. Scott with Isaac and Stiles in the jeep, Peter with me, Boyd with Jackson and Erica. The Argents are driving first, the jeep behind them, Boyd third, we’re bringing up the rear. We drive through the night,” Derek ordered, some of the color returning to his cheeks.

“Derek, we drove all night to get here. We need rest,” Scott piped up.

“He’s right,” Chris agreed.

Derek’s jaw clenched, but he nodded curtly. “We get as far as we can before ten pm, then we stop. Let’s move. …Are you okay?” Derek asked, quietly, turning to him, barely meeting his eyes which kept shifting between the various injuries on his face.

Surprised, Stiles nodded. “I’ll live. You?”

“I’ll live,” Derek echoed, with a hint of good humor. “Get in the car.” Ah, there was the bark again. Stiles saluted him and got into the passenger’s seat of his jeep. Isaac tossed Scott the keys and settled in the backseat.

A minute later, their weird parade of mismatched cars pulled out onto the road, sticking to the speed limit this time. Stiles didn’t have to look at Isaac to know he wasn’t paying attention to anything in the car, senses still on high alert.

“What happened in there?” Stiles asked Scott.

Scott shook his head. “They put up a better fight than we expected. Derek sent Peter, Erica, Boyd and Isaac away when it became clear we weren’t going to get out on time to meet you. He wanted me to leave. He wouldn’t have stood a chance on his own. I kind of lost track of the fight. There was just a lot of blood, and claws, and it seriously did not look good for us, but then, Ava cried out and the fight stopped. Derek had one of the wolves in a chokehold, but with claws. He could have easily killed him, but he didn’t. Derek gave a bit of a speech about how he knew the guy was important to Ava and if she agreed to a truce, he would let him go and we would leave and not come back. So she did and we left.”

“I hope you got that in writing, dude,” Stiles joked.

Scott made a pained face. “She’s faxing over a document to Deaton that Derek has to sign.”

Stiles snorted. “Who even still uses fax machines?”

\--

The landscape passed by in a blur of colors. Stiles spent most of the ride alternating between staring out the window without seeing anything and dozing with his head pressed against the cold window. Sitting still for this long wasn’t doing his body any favors. He couldn’t stretch out the aches or switch positions easily. They only stopped when absolutely necessary. Stiles was going to be glad when they made it to wherever they would be spending the night.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked, shooting him a look.

“Yeah, it’s just… bruises, you know? Tend to hurt,” Stiles replied.

From the backseat, Isaac put his hand on his shoulder. Before Stiles could say anything about that, he could see the veins in his hand go black. Stiles turned his head to face Isaac, gaping.

“What’s that?”

“I’m taking some of your pain away. I can do that now,” Isaac answered with a grin. He pulled up his sleeve to reveal the black veins spreading further upwards. He grimaced a little and leaned back against the seat.

“Whoa, that’s … um, thanks?” He did feel better, not as uncomfortable. “Scott, can you do that too?”

Scott nodded.

“Dude! Way to hold out on me,” Stiles said, smacking Scott on the arm. This felt like yet another example of how they were no longer in this together. They’d shared everything at first, mostly because Stiles had been the one with the relevant information, but Scott had still come to him for help. Now Scott could apparently absorb people their pain or something and he was never even informed of that. Heck, he could have used some of that healing power after Gerard had worked him over. Putting that aside, at least it was clear that Scott did have his back.

“Sorry. I’ve never really –” Scott cut himself off when he got a good look at his face. “Do we need to have that talk now?”

Clearly, Stiles was still an open book. He really needed to work on his pokerface.

“Let’s just get home first,” Stiles answered, not particularly feeling like having this conversation with one werewolf in the back and four other werewolves with superhearing in the cars in front and behind them. Too many ears.

Scott nodded and focused his attention on the road.

 _Home._ He was definitely glad to be going back to Beacon Hills, even if his road trip had been cut extremely short. Beacon Hills was his home, regardless of the crap. It was where his dad –

Christ, his dad. He groaned loudly.

“Are you in pain again?” Isaac asked from the backseat. Stiles waved him off.

“No, it’s just – how am I going to explain this to my dad? I don’t think getting beat up by a team of lacrosse players is going to work twice.”

“Tell him the truth?” Scott suggested.

“What? That’s a terrible idea. My dad is the sheriff, Scott. If he finds out about this, he’s going to go after things that go bump in the night and get himself killed, he can’t know!”

“I know you think it’s not safe for him to know, but at this point, it’s safer to let him in. My mom knows and now she knows what to keep an eye out for. With the alpha pack lurking, we might need all the back-up we can get. We’re in over our heads. All of us,” Scott emphasized that last bit.

While that was true and while it would make sense to have more firepower on Team Beacon Hills, Stiles could not bring himself to give the option much thought. It wasn’t just about his dad becoming a potential target, it was also about keeping his dad from worrying about him more than he already did.

Stiles wasn’t going to stop helping the werewolves out, there was no amount of grounding that could keep him from helping these people he cared about (Peter not included). They were in over their heads, but at his point, they were in over their heads _together_ and that made a difference.

“Mugging gone wrong?” Stiles suggested instead. “Got beaten up by homophobes because I smiled at a guy wrong and they don’t appreciate bisexual people?”

Scott sighed loudly. “That’s not less likely to make your dad worry and/or ground you, you know? … Don’t look at me like that. I still have not developed telepathic powers. I still know how you think, dude… Wait, bisexual?!”

\--

They found themselves a motel halfway through Nevada on the outskirts of a relatively big town. Even so, the parking lot was mostly deserted. They parked their cars next to each other. Derek and Peter went into the office to get them rooms. They came back with four keys. Peter took a single, Chris and Allison were sharing, Erica, Boyd and Jackson were in a room together, which left Stiles with Scott, Isaac and Derek.

Derek sent Isaac, Jackson, Boyd and Erica on a pizza run, muttering something about safety in numbers when the four of them loudly complained that sending four people was serious overkill. This time, they listened to him though and piled into one car to get food.

Their motel room had two kingsize beds, with a table barely big enough for two people, a closet and a bathroom that overlooked the back. Stiles made to throw his duffel bag on the bed Scott had already claimed near the door when Derek stopped him.

“You’re with me,” Derek said, jerking his thumb at the other bed.

Stiles spluttered. “I think I’d rather share a bed with my best friend.”

Scott was nodding from where he was lounging on his elbows.

“No, this way is safer,” Derek said with a wave of his hand that was supposed to mean something but was rather difficult to figure out with words. Never let it be said that Stiles didn’t like a challenge though. He furrowed his brow and surveyed the room. Scott and Isaac would be sharing the bed by the door, Derek was sitting on the side of the bed, next to the bathroom, which left the place on the bed next to the nightstand. Two werewolves near the main exit, no, entrance, another –

“Oh, seriously? We’re not going to get attacked here! And PS: no one can get through that window in the bathroom, it’s way too small.”

Derek just stared him down. Stiles huffed. “Fine, but if I wake up with werewolf drool all over my t-shirt, you’re buying me an entire new wardrobe.”

When the four werewolves returned with the pizza, everyone gathered in their room. Derek, Stiles, Scott and Isaac sat on one bed, Erica, Boyd, Jackson and Allison on another with Peter and Chris sitting at the table.

Quite frankly, all of them sharing an albeit subdued meal was hilarious given all of their histories. Scott kept shooting glances at Allison who returned them only when Scott was otherwise occupied. Chris was sharing a pizza with Peter, with a gun on his lap, which Peter didn’t even comment on but he kept smirking at Chris, making him twitch. Allison and Erica were sitting on the same bed, barely looking at each other, but not even verbally abusing each other, which was a huge win. Isaac and Scott were sharing a pizza, which, yeah, okay, not all that surprising given their new BFFy status and apparently similar tastes in pizza toppings. Jackson was giving everyone disdainful looks but refrained from commenting, which seemed like a huge feat in itself. Derek kept giving Stiles the stink eye for stealing the pineapple off of his half, but looked otherwise unbothered by the situation. The only one nervously darting his eyes over everyone, much like Stiles, was Boyd, who at least had some common sense.

“This is weird, right?” he mouthed at him. Boyd shrugged a little and nodded.

“So, um, does this mean we’re all working together now? Because don’t get me wrong, the lack of a bloodshed is more than I could have ever hoped for but this is seriously weird,” Stiles said, because he couldn’t help poking the elephant in the room.

“For the time being,” Derek acknowledged.

“We can’t keep fighting each other, not when we don’t know what’s coming,” Chris added.

“Strength in numbers,” Scott chimed in.

Stiles glanced at Peter, who quirked an eyebrow at him. “I follow Derek’s orders.”

Stiles just bet but decided not to push it. That was Derek’s problem.

“Good, well, I’m glad to see some teamwork.”

“Yeah, and all it took was for you to get kidnapped,” Erica quipped. Derek tensed.

“Well, I am the glue that holds this bunch together. I had to do something. Taking one for the team,” he shot back good naturedly, more than a little relieved that at least the communication flow was going to get slightly easier now that they were on speaking terms and he wouldn’t be caught in the middle of their loyalty issues anymore. It felt like the weight on his shoulder was getting lighter.

Scott huffed out laugh. “Next time, try to mediate.”

\--

By eleven pm, they were all ready for bed. Stiles had shared a quick call with his dad on Scott’s cell phone, telling him he was on his way back. He fielded the questions about why he was calling with Scott’s phone when he’d said before Scott wasn’t coming and promised to tell him when he got home. His dad wasn’t fooled and knew something was up. Stiles promised he and Scott were safe and promised they’d have a talk as soon as he got home, because there was nothing more reassuring than saying there needed to be a talk as parting words. After he hung up, he hit himself in the forehead with the phone a couple of times until Scott yanked it out of his hand with a disapproving glare. Stiles wasn’t entirely sure if he was more worried about his cell phone or Stiles’s forehead but either way, he decided there was no point in causing himself more pain.

After that, there was no ignoring the awkward fact that he was about to share a bed with Derek, who had exchanged the leather and jeans for sweatpants and an, unsurprisingly, black worn t-shirt. It was different from his usual attire, more loose. It made him look softer around the edges somehow. Stiles was going to stop that thought right there.

He crawled in bed, lying as close to the edge as he dared and pulling the covers over his body, trying to find a position that wasn’t too hurtful for his wounds. He ended up having to turn on his side, facing Derek so that he wasn’t lying on the claw marks. Derek was sitting up against the headboard, hand poised on the light switch, waiting until everyone, mostly Stiles probably, because the others had nightvision, had settled down before he turned off the light. Stiles grinned, because that felt almost caring.

They exchanged good nights before Derek turned off the light, not moving from his sitting position.

Sties decided not to comment, closing his eyes. Against all odds, he felt himself drifting off, easily, the two sleepless nights and all the anxiety catching up with him.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when a careless subconscious move made him jerk awake in pain with a gasp.

“Stiles?” Derek questioned, lightly putting his hand on his lower arm. The pain eased immediately and Stiles could breathe a little easier.

“Thanks,” he whispered. He could only see Derek’s profile in the darkness of the room, but it was clear he was still sitting up. “Have you slept?”

“A little.”

Stiles didn’t even buy it. Derek s _ounded_ tired. Stiles found his biceps and tugged.

“Lie down, sleep. Even alphas need their beauty nap,” Stiles teased, yawning widely.

He didn’t even need to see Derek’s face to know that had him glaring. Stiles grinned.

“I’m serious. You’re going to be pissed when you crash the Camaro tomorrow.” Stiles tugged on his arm again for good measure, feeling the muscles jump under his touch, which reminded him of the fact he was actually touching Derek Hale, with his ridiculous biceps and abs and … Yeah, he was not thinking about Derek’s muscles right now.

Derek actually did slid down until his head hit the pillow, turning his head to him.

“Better?” It was only a half-hearted attempt at being snide.

Stiles felt the breath ghost across his face, which made him realize how close they were lying… and nope, not thinking about that either.

“Much. Sleep!” He ordered sternly, on the tail end of another yawn. Sleep was already attempting to drag him back under, limbs feeling heavy, the soft snores from the other bed and Derek’s even breathing making him feel safe.

He dozed for a while, dimly aware of his hand still on Derek’s arm and the sounds surrounding him, mixed with images from his dream, a sunlit meadow with daisies and roses, a lithe figure dancing in the middle, long brown haired flowing behind her, face a blur but _alive._  
  
A loud snore jolted him awake again, seconds, maybe minutes later. He removed his hand from Derek’s arm in favor of wiping some drool away from his mouth, which, _gross._ Derek’s breathing was still steady but slower, this time clearly asleep. Stiles smiles, flipped over his pillow to avoid the wet patch and drifted off again.  
  
The next time he woke up, there were pale stripes of light on the floor, sunlight streaming in through cracks in the curtain. He must have rolled over at some point during the night because he was facing the other bed, where Scott was still asleep, his head somehow stuffed half under the pillow and one leg hanging off the side of the bed. Isaac was up, sitting against the headboard, looking at something on his cell phone.

[ ](http://imageshack.us/a/img163/7530/rltlast.jpg)

Isaac met his eyes when Stiles shifted a little, and raised an amused eyebrow at him, right at the same time that Stiles was becoming aware of the fact that the arm around his waist was not his own. He froze instinctively, suddenly incredibly focused on the fact Derek was _spooning him._ His heartbeat sped up considerably, which Isaac could most definitely hear, and his body started reacting in ways that it should really not right now. The pain still thrumming through his body put a stop to that at least, but he couldn’t stop his breath from hitching.

He tried moving away with the intention of stopping this from becoming really awkward, but as soon as he moved, he felt Derek go rigid behind him and yep, he was awake. Faking sleep was definitely not an option with a werewolf behind him and one that knew he was awake anyway, so when Derek pulled away, Stiles turned on his back, bravely, ready to apologize for any and all signals his body was giving off right now.

He didn’t know what to expect, but the grumbled “sorry”, followed by Derek disappearing into the bathroom was not it. He shrugged, chalking it up to a mistake and thankful that his body was still more responsive of the pain, because otherwise, this situation probably would have gotten more uncomfortable.

“Don’t say anything,” Stiles said, pointing an accusing finger at Isaac, who just smirked and went back to his cell phone.

With three of the four people in the room awake, Stiles figured it was only fair for the fourth one to be up as well. He grabbed Scott’s pillow and whacked him with it until he groaned and snatched the pillow back, sleepily, and glaring at him ineffectively.

“Up, Lassie. It’s … 8:05 am,” Stiles announced, after squinting at the cell phone screen Isaac was helpfully holding out to him.

They were on the road an hour later after they’d grabbed a quick breakfast, with Stiles huffing every time someone enquired after his injuries, which, yes, were still painful but probably healing and no, Isaac, he could manage the pain for now but thanks.

Stiles was surprised when Derek pulled him aside and said he should ride with him.

“What’s wrong with my jeep?” Stiles asked.

Derek gave him a look that clearly said he didn’t even know where to start, which Stiles felt vaguely offended by. He was the only one who got to complain about the state of his jeep.

“You’re moving a lot more stiffly today than you were yesterday. The seats in the Camaro are a lot softer,” Derek replied, eventually. He heard the snort from Peter loud and clear, which made Derek glare to where Peter was standing. Stiles had his back turned to him and resisted the urge to turn around to add his glare.

“Do you pay close attention to the way I move often then?” Stiles asked with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, because his self-preservation instincts really weren’t that great.

Derek leveled him with a glare then. It made Stiles smile, because he was totally _right._ He could see it in the way that his glare lacked heat, in the way his mouth wasn’t set in a tight line the way it usually did when his glare was meant to be intimidating or angry. Stiles was beyond the point where he cared to question how he could possibly know this.

While a couple of days ago, he might have actually felt uncomfortable about getting into the car with Derek, there was not a trace of that now. Instead, he felt a little excited, a little warm. It was a sign of caring, if nothing else, that had prompted Derek to make the suggestions. Derek, who had come for him and had actually done everything within reason to get a favorable outcome. That meant something. He didn’t quite know what it meant, but he had plenty of time to figure that out.

“Fine, fine. I’ll ride with you, sourwolf,” he said, a note of fondness of creeping into his voice.

Derek’s glare disappeared and he nodded shortly. Stiles bit back a smile, turned around to go inform Scott but by the look on his face and the confused frown, he’d been listening in. As had the other wolves apparently. Jackson looked part confused, part horrified. Erica had a truly shit-eating grin on her face. Isaac was smirking some more. Boyd, bless him, was tapping on his cell phone and at least pretending he wasn’t following the conversation because he understood the concept of privacy. Scott was already whispering to Allison, who looked mildly surprised.

Seriously, what was so funny about him getting in the car with Derek? He gave them all a filthy look.

“Right, I’ll ride with Scott and Isaac then,” Peter said. The confused frown on Scott’s face turned into a truly horrified look that almost made Stiles laugh. Almost, because yeah, getting into a car with Peter? He wouldn’t like that much either.

He slid into the passenger seat. Okay, Derek’s seats were softer and nicer to sink back into, but the effect was mostly ruined when they started driving again, because the seatbelt hurt and the road wasn’t always as smooth.

They drove in silence for a while, Stiles thinking about the events of the past couple of days, the scene in the warehouse playing out in front of him again. His heart jumped in his chest when he remembered some of Ava’s words about him having made the deal.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Derek asked, glancing at him, no doubt hearing the increase in his heartbeat.

“When Ava said I made a deal to sell you out, I didn’t. I mean, I told them about you, but not because of some deal or whatever.” Stiles winced. That didn’t sound good at all.

Derek gave him a look. “I know.”

“You do?”

Derek sighed. “Your injuries are a dead give-away. You’re… You’re one of the bravest, most loyal people I know, Stiles.” That seemed all that Derek was willing to say on the subject, which was more than he thought he’d ever get.

“Thanks.” He couldn’t help but smile a little. Some recognition, at long last.

They parted ways with the Argents outside of Sacramento, father and daughter needing a little more time to deal with things. Stiles felt vaguely envious that they weren’t returning yet, thinking about his own road trip which had been cut short, but a part of him did want to return to Beacon Hills, to the relative safety of the town, which seemed slightly less scary now that they were all working together to an extent.

Stiles hugged both the Argents, thanking them for coming, after which they all pretended not to see Allison and Scott hug longer than was strictly necessary. Their love was still strong despite their issues, which Stiles envied. He patted Scott on the back when he joined him and gave him a sympathetic smile. Derek promised to keep Chris updated about the alpha pack and then the werewolves and Stiles continued the last part of their journey into Beacon Hills.

When they drove past the Beacon Hills sign, Stiles couldn’t believe it had been less than a week since he’d left on his quest for peace. In a way, he’d achieved it. He hadn’t found the kind of peace he’d been after, the realization that life didn’t have to be this way, but instead, he’d made peace with the fact that this was his life now and that he was a fighter. He’d always been a fighter. He’d survived his mom dying, he’d survived most of high school so far, he’d survived a crazy alpha (who was now back, joy), he could survive other curve balls that were thrown his way, because he wasn’t in this alone.

“Home, sweet home,” Stiles breathed out, grinning a little at the familiarity of the town. From out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the slightest hint of a smile on Derek’s face.

~fin


End file.
